Absalom
by ArchXDeath
Summary: Corruption is a venom that infects even the strongest of men; the Champion of Unova is no exception. With Revives banned, Silph Corporation falls, and the Trainer world is left shaken. The Champions are helpless, and the Trainers hopeless. But one teen rises, out for blood: Alder's blood. For, after all, one must stain his hands with evil to destroy a greater evil...
1. Relax - If Only for a Moment

_Relax_

_- If Only for a Moment -_

* * *

><p><em>Plip. Plip.<em>

Water dripped from the cracked ceiling above. It fell among its likeness in a murky puddle below, sending a ringing sound to echo in the halls. A soft chill seemed to radiate off the steel walls, yet sweat still slipped down Lance's back as he walked along. He took a sharp breath, and the air seemed to have a metallic taste, as if the steel had stained the oxygen. His footsteps seemed to be that of an army's, resonating and amplified, deafening to his carefully listening ears.

He kept a hand on the wall, though he pulled away every now and then to let the warmth lost in the steel's freezing bite seep back into his fingers. His other hand hovered at his belt, both for safety and reassurance. The lights blinked every now and then, causing the shadows to shift and, without fail, making Lance freeze in place.

Not that he was afraid, of course. Heavens forbid a G-Man and Champion like him would be afraid of mere shadows!

The lights made a clicking noise, and he jumped.

It took a few seconds for him to calm down again. His lips curved into a nervous smile; okay, maybe he was just a bit scared—but that was only reasonable. There wasn't a soul in sight, and he had to be ready to face anything.

Though, he thought, it _was_ rather odd that he hadn't run in to a single person yet. Even the entrance had been completely abandoned, despite reports informing him that there were at least a dozen members holed up in the abandoned base. For all Lance knew, the gang might have already left. Perhaps the criminals had been tipped off—was the information even accurate?

No, no. It wouldn't do any good to doubt his sources. That would be detrimental to the already delicate bonds between them; the G-Men couldn't afford to lose any more help.

Still, it definitely was strange. It was possible that they were all in a single room, but why do so without any means of security? Lance already had reinforcements ready at the entrance, so it's not like they could escape easily.

Criminals were such odd creatures. Never thinking about the consequences, never thinking about the problems they caused everyone else.

He turned another corner and found himself in front of a great steel door. He listened closely to the other side and, hearing nothing, reached for the handle. With as gentle a motion as possible, he pushed down on the icy lever and pulled—

_Screeeeech!_

—and Lance realized that, of course, the hinges just _had_ to have rusted.

There were a few moments where Lance kept perfectly still, his hand still on the door handle as if stuck there. He strained his ears to catch even the slightest of sounds, but other than his own pounding heart, there was nothing of notice.

And then: "Razor Wind."

Lance's eyes widened. His instincts kicked in, and, before he knew it, he had already lunged away from the door. A split second later, the steel door fell apart in two halves, a blade-like gale slicing past it to slash through the shadows. Horrible groans and haunting screams forced their way into Lance's head as the walls and floor were torn apart. The winds ripped through anything and everything in its way, and the echoes of destruction rang in Lance's head as they sounded behind him.

Dazed, Lance shook his head of the haze and dashed through the now-doorless entryway. He fumbled with his belt for a second before he managed to release his partner—only for something to smash against the side of his head.

Pain erupted in the spot, and he lost his balance, banging into the hard ground beneath him. The breath rushed from his lungs, and a split second of shock ran through his body at the heavy contact iwht the ground. His vision became fragmented, and he could only just barely make out the dark figure fleeing.

Blinking the stars out of his eyes, he forced the command out in a breathless hiss: "Thunder Wave!"

The entire room lit up as tendrils of electricity shot through it. They climbed the walls and clawed their way along the ground, sinking their fangs into every inch and crevice. The peals of shattering glass was deafening, and scattered fragments of the lights rain downed on him, casting the room into a pitch-black darkness.

Lance covered his head with his hands, wincing as the glass around him cracked on contact with the metallic floor. As soon as the noises stopped, he managed to force himself up in to a standing position. His Dragonite lit the room up with a spark of electricity, letting him look around the room.

A curse escaped Lance. A large chunk of the ceiling had been cut away, leading to the upper floors. It would be nearly impossible to catch the escapee; Lance would be trying to catch him in his own base.

He gave up and turned his attention the rest of the room. Shards of glass now lay scattered around the room and on top of a wooden table, which sat in the center of the room, covered with a cloth. Atop it stood many items: potions of all kinds, berries, empty flasks, stone molds, and what appeared to be a sketched diagram. Around it lay over a dozen unconscious men, ranging in age from teens to adults, all of whom were wearing tattered Team Plasma uniforms.

Scowling, Lance rubbed the injury on his head. Nothing was going right; they should have only been paralyzed, not knocked out. He reached over to one of the Team Plasma members and felt the fabric of his shirt. Ordinary cotton.

Lance bit his lip. Had Dragonite shocked them with more power than usual...? Or...he couldn't assume anything, but...

No, before all else, he had to secure the rest of the culprits. He flipped a switch on his Pokétch and raised it to his mouth.

"This is Lance," he spoke into the small microphone. "Failed to retrieve the goods. The Team Plasma members are in the base. One has escaped...I will begin measures to apprehend them. Guard the entrances."

...

The failure left a sour taste in Lance's mouth as he rubbed the side of his head. It had been years since he had tasted it, and it wasn't a pleasant flavor to remember.

He still couldn't believe he had been outdone so easily by the criminal. Sure, Lance was tired. He had been dealing with these kinds of missions nonstop, and his nerves, not to mention body and mind, were at their limits. But to be smacked in the head and _still_ lose the criminal—well, that was just insult to injury. Every guard at every exit had been knocked out by said criminal, leaving Lance to haul everyone back himself. It was ridiculous; the escapee was mocking him.

Lance muttered a few curses as he kicked a stone on the ground. It was dark under the light of the waning moon, but he could see the pebble roll along the grass before bouncing harmlessly off a tree trunk. He ignored it and continued along, making his way to the large building before him.

The Pokémon Center was a brick building of red-brown, with wide rectangular windows spread evenly along the walls. He pushed open the glass doors and stepped inside, blinking a bit at the brightness of the hanging chandelier lights. The room was wide enough to hold a party in—not, of course, that Lance would ever allow such a thing..._ahem_—but not so much as to be overly expensive. Lance hadn't been the one to build it, but he had been the one to decline expanding it, seeing as it was already expensive enough to maintain the facilities. The Pokémon League had its hands full already; he had no reason to add onto that.

"Oh!" came the buoyant exclamation.

From the front desk, a young nurse jogged over to him with a wide smile. Her pink hair was flowing today, rather than in its usual knot, and she had left her nurse's hat on the corner of her desk. She was even dressed casually: a loose long-sleeved t-shirt and a skirt.

"Good evening, Lance!" she said, smiling up at him. "It's great to have you back after so long; it's been lonely without you around here. How did everything go?"

"Thanks, Amelia," he said, returning the smile. "Things were fine—how're things here? I hope the guys didn't throw a party or anything while I was gone."

She shook her head, taking his coat from him. He followed her as she led them across the carpeted floor. "A bit after you left, we got a challenger here, so we didn't have much time to do anything like that. Heehee, he was quite the awesome Trainer!"

"A challenger?" Lance echoed, confused. "At this time of year? I thought the circuit only just started up... How did anyone get through them all so quickly?"

"Everyone was wondering the same thing when he first got here, but we all understood by the time he was done. He beat everyone with just one Pokémon each, and he didn't even care that you weren't here!" She chuckled a bit as she hung the coat up on the coat hanger by the fireplace. "It was incredible."

Dull shock ran through Lance. He stared at the back of her head. "_All_ of them? With _one_?"

She nodded as she turned to him, still smiling. "Yup. Karen was ecstatic, of course. She said it was the first time she had ever battled someone so strong. Bruno holed himself up in his room for a week until he bothered coming out again. And, well...you know how Koga and Will are. They were training like crazy after that."

Lance crossed his arms as Amelia adjusted the cushions on the sofa. "And? Did you get the name of the challenger?"

"Ashton Rhodes. And he didn't stop here, either. Apparently he went and challenged the Hoenn League as well."

"Steven's still busy with Devon though, isn't he?"

"Yes...none of the Champions were around." She led him by the shoulders and plopped him down on the couch. Pulling the coffee table into place in front of Lance, she continued, "It's surprising that he didn't want to battle them, but I guess he was satisfied with beating the Elite Four. He didn't want to take any of their places, though...

"Ah." She looked up from the table and positively beamed at him. "I'll get you something to drink! You're probably tired, after all. Coffee or tea? Ohhh, and I got some fresh juice from one of my cousins, if you'd like that."

"Coffee will be fine," Lance said, smiling weakly. "Thanks."

She winked. "Of course, of course," she said, and she whisked away through the hallway across the room. Lance stared at the door frame, long after she had disappeared from sight.

A few minutes later, Amelia came back with a cup of the dark brown drink and laid it in front of him on the table. He thanked the nurse before sipping at the coffee slowly. Heat flushed through his body and helped him to relax.

"Okay," he said after a while, laying down the cup, "let me just ask once. Did he use any items?"

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. She sat down beside him, brushing her skirt and adjusting it underneath her. "He never had to, since his Pokémon never really got hurt. But he did have a full six Pokémon, even if he only used four of them. He seemed to be a Dark-type specialist!"

"I see..."

Even when Lance had challenged the Elite Four years ago, he had used Revives to get through the battles. Defeating all four had been a ridiculously amazing feat to achieve, and beating the Champion on top of that—well, Lance had definitely been proud of himself. But he hadn't even been able to get past the first member without all of his team working together, and each battle had him patching them up with multiple items.

A bit of a laugh escaped him, but he felt no amusement. "I guess Trainers are of a whole new caliber now."

Amelia's smile faded. She gazed down at her hands, cupping her hands and rubbing her neatly kept nails with a thumb. "It's sad, but training Pokémon has become so much more difficult that I wouldn't be surprised. Injuries...even death rates have risen ever since..."

She stopped herself. Lance knew what she had been about to say, though.

"Ever since Revives were banned..." he mumbled.

Ever since Revives had been banned, Lance had had a lot more missions to cope with. All of the miraculous stones had been taken out of business, and those that were left among Trainers and civilians were treated as contraband. Those who didn't hand them in to the police were treated as criminals, outlaws. Even Lance had given up all of his Revives, as had all the other Champions.

Now Trainers had to rely much more on Pokémon Centers. One would have thought that their income would have gone up, considering how many more Trainers spent their time there. But no, after Revives had gone down, so, too, had the popularity of Silph Corporation, causing the company's fall—and thus a fall in the number of Trainers as a whole. It was a huge pity in Lance's opinion, but the one responsible didn't share Lance's feelings.

The memory of his words was drawn up at the thought, even as Lance tried to suppress it:

_"Revives are despicable things. They're used to force defeated, sometimes even dead Pokémon to fight again and again—it's cruel, and it's wrong. Look at Team Plasma! The rebels were only capable of fighting because of these devices. It's just a sure sign that Revives are evil, and that they must be—"_

"I think that would be a wonderful match to see," Amelia said, cutting off the memory train. "Perhaps you could go watch him battle. Who knows, maybe he'll challenge the Sinnoh League next?"

Lance blinked. "I'm sorry, who?"

"Ashton," she said. She frowned. "Are you okay, Lance? You seem a bit bummed out...were the missions too hard? I could go warm up a bath if you want—"

"No, no, it's fine," he said. He forced a smile. "I think I'd like to see him try. But I have a Champions' meeting tomorrow, so I'll have to check after that. For now...why don't we call everyone and have some dinner together for once? I'm sure they've all tired themselves out training. How old was this Ashton?"

Though thoroughly unconvinced, Amelia dropped her interrogative stare. "About eighteen, I think," she said.

Lance felt an odd emptiness in his chest at that answer. "Eighteen, eh?" he said needlessly loudly. He turned to the ceiling and laughed. "At least they weren't beaten by a ten-year-old. Hah! That would've been a laugh. What's for dinner tonight, Amelia?"

Her face brightened up. "I cooked up some curry. Is that okay with you?"

"You have to ask? Anything you make is great."

She blushed a bit but smiled nonetheless. "Thanks. I'll go call the others, then. You just sit and finish your coffee, okay?"

"'Kay." He waved to the nurse and watched her disappear up the stairway. When she was out of sight, he let his head fall on the armrest.

Ashton Rhodes. Lance felt he knew that name, yet he couldn't remember where from. Perhaps this "Ashton" was part of the older generation of Trainers, and Lance was just forgetting. Plenty of Trainers had quit after the ban had been placed, so Lance had been forced to abandon many of his hopes for new rising stars. Ashton may have been one of these names.

But that didn't seem to fit right. Even over the past three years of constant missions to handle all the illegal Revives, Lance hadn't once abandoned his post as Champion for longer than a month. He had been kept up to date with all of the strongest Trainers, and he had made sure he was a step above the rest. Despite this, he had no idea where this "Ashton Rhodes" had come from.

Odd. Very odd.

Still, perhaps he had missed this Ashton after all. There was so much to do about the Revives that it wasn't all that unlikely. Crime rates going up, the number of Trainers going down, death rates rising, more accidents, economic recession, anger, protests...

Everything started with the ban of Revives, and after the fall of Silph Co., everything got worse and worse. Devon Corporation couldn't supply the entire world—not without its biggest partner. Lance knew Steven was going through hell to keep the world as well-supplied with items as possible, but Revives were so crucial to a Trainer's life that Lance just wasn't sure it was enough.

When it came to recovery items, sometimes Potions just lacked the strength to heal Pokémon. And it wasn't just because of over-battling or irresponsibility of Trainers; there were legitimate cases, such as emergency treatment for wild Pokémon and accidents in battles. He had never used a Revive to bring back a dead Pokémon; he wasn't sure if that would even work. He had never heard of it, at any rate. Besides, there wasn't a Trainer Lance knew that hadn't at least once in his life been forced to use a Revive. None of the older generation Trainers, anyway...

Lance bit the inside of his cheek and frowned. He had to figure out how this Ashton was. He'd ask the other Champions if they knew at tomorrow's meeting. It was one of the rare chances that Lance could feel his passion as a Trainer, as the Champion, rather than his loyalty as a G-Man to uphold the law.

"Lance?" Amelia called, her voice traveling through the building. "The others are waiting!"

"Yeah, Champ, come on already! I'm hungry!" he heard Bruno shout.

"All right, all right." The Champion stood up, downed the rest of his coffee, and made his way over to the dining hall. "Karen, slap Bruno for me!"

_Smack!_

"Ouch!"

Lance grinned to himself. "Thanks, Karen!"

"Haha, any time, Champ."

But for now, at least, he didn't have to worry about anything. Just for the next hour or so, he could enjoy an ordinary meal with friends. His duties as a G-Man and as a Champion could rest for just a bit longer.

"Don't call me Champ," he said, leaning in through the doorway. He smiled at his five seated friends. "It's Lance."

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><p><strong>AN - Hey guys!**

**So this is the first story I've ever written that's like this. I planned out everything from start to finish, wrote out (mostly) the entire story before even thinking of uploading a chapter, and here we are! This is a five-chapter story, and I'll be maintaining (hopefully) weekly updates! Chapters 1 through 4 are allllllll done, but number 5 is a little bit different from the rest, so I'm figuring out some style issues. But don't worry! I'll be uploading that last, obviously, so it'll probz be perfect by the end of this all.**

**It's great to be back to fanfiction. It was a long break, but let's go!**

**Also! I really meant to upload only after I finished the last chapter...but today's one of my friend's birthdays. Here's to you, Odile! This is a boring chapter, but hopefully you'll at least give a glance, :) Happy birthday! Hope you have a good one!**

**Hasta luego, amigos~**


	2. Smile - For Hopes of Cheer

_Smile_

_- For Hopes of Cheer -_

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><p>"...and that will adjourn our meeting for today. Good work, gentlemen."<p>

Everyone rose. Halfhearted handshakes and muttered farewells were shared before the suited men began shuffling out of Steven's office, their professional poker faces ruined by the frustrated trembles in their voices. Even Steven himself was only just able to usher them out before collapsing onto one of the vacated chairs, a sigh escaping him. But even this moment of peace was torn away from him: almost immediately, the door opened again.

"Good work today, President."

Steven didn't even bother looking up at the approaching man. He buried his face in his hands, trying to rub the exhaustion out. "Save the pleasantries, Henry," he mumbled into his palms. "Just for today, could you call me Steven and let me forget I'm the president of this corporation?"

"I would love to, President, but then I would simply be calling you Champion Steven instead. And, on that note, I am here to report that you have a Champions' meeting tomorrow afternoon. Your ride has already been prepared, as per your orders."

Steven dropped his hands. He stared down at the rugged floor, where he could see Henry's spotless polished shoes. He then raised his eyes and glared at the old man.

"You know, Henry, the fact you always have a legitimate reason for bothering me is somewhat impressive. Annoying as all hell, but impressive nonetheless."

"Well," Henry said, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt, "I wouldn't want to bother you for anything less than legitimate trouble. Did the meeting go well, sir?"

"About as well as usual. You saw their expressions. The Pokémon League will probably collapse if Revives aren't brought back, or at least something with the same effect. And trust me, with the ban in place, neither of those could even be considered _wishful_ thinking. It'd be pure insanity to hope for something like that."

"Yes, President, but words such as 'insanity' are common for a stone maniac such as yourself, are they not?"

Steven paused. Then a soft chuckle escaped him. "I suppose you are right."

He pushed himself up off the chair and stepped over towards a closet in the far corner. Shedding his suit, he pulled on a more comfortable black jacket. He also replaced his belt, opting for the heavier one found in his closet.

"Ah, President. Have you heard the news from your Elite Four? It seems that you had a challenger recently. He defeated them but did not battle Wallace."

Steven, who had been busy pulling on his shoes, slowly rose to his feet. He turned to Henry with a frown. "I'm sorry, what?"

"A challenger defeated your Elite Four but—"

"No, no, I heard you. But why would he not battle...no, I think I know why." Steven scowled and returned to tying his laces. "I messed up, didn't I?" he muttered into his knee.

Henry remained silent as Steven pulled together the last knot. He inclined his head, as did Steven.

"You're in charge for the next day or so, Henry," Steven said. "Make sure we don't fall apart, all right? Devon's the last candle in this darkness."

The Champion patted the old man on the shoulder. He then opened the office door and shut it tight behind him, wandering down the long halls on the red-carpeted floor. He brushed his hand along the glass-protected portraits on the walls, noting his reflection on their surfaces. The chandeliers must have been casting odd shadows; he didn't remember having such dark shadows under his eyes.

On his way out, he stopped by the front desk, where he asked the flustered lady to call someone for him. A few minutes later, his request came through. A young man came down, holding six shining spheres in his gloved hands.

"Thanks," Steven said, taking the Poké Balls. He attached them to his belt, grateful to feel their weight again. He smiled at the two, excused himself, and made his way out of the building.

In the courtyard, his private jet was waiting, the pilot standing in front of it. The man gave a good-natured smile—something Steven missed seeing.

"Good evening," Steven said, approaching the man.

He bowed his head. "Good evening, President. Or do you prefer Champion?"

"You can call me Steven." He turned, glancing around the pavement. The courtyard was made for a plane to take off in, but Steven still admired the long distance it extended across. He could see the sun setting at the end of the path. "Will you be all right, seeing how it's late already?"

"I'm very grateful for the concern, Mr. Steven. But the ride shouldn't take more than a few hours, and I was told to rest in Unova, so it should be okay."

Steven nodded. "All right. Then, without further ado, shall we go?"

The pilot saluted. Steven stepped inside the private jet and was greeted by a cozy interior: half a dozen seats, all of which looked quite plump with their red, cushioned padding, and a lavatory in the back. Steven walked towards the back and plopped down near the front.

"Ready for liftoff," the pilot called out from the front. "Have you eaten dinner yet, Mr. Steven?"

"I'll be fine."

"Then, if you will please buckle up, we'll be on our way to Unova."

Steven obliged. The jet hardly even shook as the engine erupted into motion. The young president gazed out the window, resting his cheek on his hand. His reflection in the glass was a foggy one at best, but even so he could tell the chandeliers in Devon Corporation hadn't been playing tricks on him: his eyes had a red tint to them, and heavy bags hung under them.

His eyes focused onto the tiny model of Rustboro City below him. Somebody beat his Elite Four. Somebody beat his Elite Four, and he hadn't been there to fight them. He couldn't believe this.

"Damn it," he mumbled under his breath. He turned away from the window and closed his eyes, letting a sigh escape through his teeth.

…

"Excuse me, Mr. Steven, but we're here."

He opened his eyes. His pilot was standing at the entrance, out of which Steven couldn't see anything but darkness. Struggling against the dregs of fatigue, the young man slapped himself a few times and pushed himself out of his seat.

"Sorry about that. Your name was...?"

"John, sir. John Smith."

Steven smiled. A bit absentmindedly, he began trying to flatten a rather stubborn tuft of hair. "Well, John, thanks a bunch. Mind telling me where we are?"

"We're currently in Mistralton City," came the polite response. "I was informed that we were to book a hotel, but..."

Steven followed John out of the jet, stepping down onto the stony ground. They were in some sort of warehouse, which John led them out of. He locked the door behind them, securing a chain in place with a rather hefty padlock. Steven eyed it suspiciously but chose to ignore it.

"I see," Steven said, turning back to his pilot. "Thanks, John. You go find a hotel. Just say you're from Devon, and I'll take care of the rest."

"Mr. Steven? Aren't you coming with me?"

"No. I have some business I have to attend to."

The pilot nodded. He saluted once more. "Then, sir, thank you for the honor of letting me pilot you. I shall take you up on your offer."

"Don't be modest now," Steven said. He held out his hand. "Make sure you find a nice place. Not a cheap one, all right? It'd look bad if a Devon employee didn't show that we had the finances to treat you properly."

John laughed, and they shook. Steven bid him farewell, watching as he wandered off into the distance. Then, the young man turned his attention to the sky. Pollution from the city had clouded the stars, but he was used to such. Where he would be going would be much more fresh.

He pulled a Poké Ball from his belt. It was an exhilarating feeling to be able to do it again, and the amount of satisfaction it gave him to throw the capsule was almost too much to bear. What was most relieving, though, was seeing the Pokémon pop out from inside.

"Claydol!" Steven exclaimed. Without warning, the massive block of rock smashed into him. He skidded a few feet along the pavement, but he was too busy laughing to even notice. "Man, it's great to see you again. Heck, why not let out everyone?"

Five great bursts of light lit up the empty runway, and in an instant, materializing before him were an Aggron, an Armaldo, a Skarmory, a Cradily, and a Metagross. Along with his Claydol, these were the six Pokémon that Steven had conquered the Hoenn League with. He couldn't help but grin at each of them as he called, "How's it going, guys?"

He promptly received a Water Pulse to the face, courtesy of Armaldo.

"Well," he spluttered, "that's one way to greet me."

It had been weeks since he had last seen the team. So much time had gone into dealing with Devon Corporation that, honestly, he didn't have time to act as a Champion. The last time he had visited the League had been almost two months ago...as had the last time he had seen his Pokémon. He had Wallace fill in every now and then, but...

The thought left him a bit guilty. "Sorry, guys," he said, lowering his head. A few drops of water spilled to the ground. "I really shouldn't have put you all off for so long."

Another Water Pulse to the face. Needless to say, it was again courtesy of Armaldo. His Pokémon seemed more than willing to laugh off the matter, though, which Steven was grateful for. He spent a few moments just reacquainting himself with them before returning them back to their Poké Balls—all except for Claydol.

"All right," he said. "You haven't gotten rusty, have you?"

Claydol gave as close to a snort as a living rock could. Empathy, however, told Steven that the Claydol was up to the task.

"Then can you Teleport us to her place? Not in Sinnoh," he added quickly, seeing Claydol's very many eyes narrow in disgust, "but the one in Lacunosa Town. You put a mental lock on her, didn't you? Can you trace her?"

Claydol rolled its eyes. It was actually a rather disturbing sight, but it wasn't the first time Steven had seen it. Besides, the emotions that Claydol were transmitting to him—something about Steven being absolutely hopeless without Claydol—were enough to help him ignore the oddness of the situation.

Steven placed a hand on Claydol's side. For a moment, nothing happened, except for Claydol closing all of its eyes. Then—

—_BANG!_

The feeling of Teleporting was a lot like losing your balance. For a second, nothing really happens—you just see the world suddenly turn. Then, you feel the gravity cause your entire body to lurch, you feel yourself falling, and then the pain of hitting the ground brings you back to reality.

When you Teleported, instead of pain, it was like a massive army of cannons suddenly all going off at once inside your head as you supposedly hit the ground. As the artillery went off in his mind, Steven was left too dizzy to even open his eyes for a while.

For some reason, as soon as his feet touched the ground, he slipped. He banged his head against something—a wall?—and then the rest of his body parts banged against another something—a plastic frame...?—only for burning hot water to suddenly envelop his body.

His eyes shot open. Steam. A fogged glass mirror. An open window. Tiled walls. A toilet.

...He was in a bathroom? And in the bathtub, no less?

"CLAYDOL, YOU IDIOT!"

The Rock-type had obviously fled at the splashing of water, but Steven wasn't about to let him escape. He jumped out of the water and onto the tiled floor, dashing over to the window. Outside, he could see his Claydol warping all around the streets like crazy. He was about to shout after it when he heard the sound of footsteps.

"Steven."

He froze. Whatever remained of his animal instinct was telling him to jump out the window, but his body wouldn't so much as twitch. He was completely and utterly stuck.

"I'll give you five seconds."

He unfroze. And immediately, he wheeled around and was on his knees, his forehead touching the wet floor.

"I'M SO SORRY CYNTHIA IT WAS ALL MY CLAYDOL'S FAULT I DIDN'T MEAN TO JUMP INTO THE BATH I JUST WANTED—"

She grabbed him by the collar. Then, Steven found himself a full inch off the ground, lifted by one mere hand. This fact would not have been significant if not for the reason why she was only using one hand.

Her other hand was clenched into a fist.

"Your five seconds are up."

"...I'm sorry?"

He dropped to the ground face-first. He let himself crumple onto the floor and ignored the pain that racked his body. Above him, he heard a distinct sigh, but he was unable to raise himself to see her expression.

"Get up, Steven."

It was an order. He stood.

Her expression was the exact opposite of what he had expected. Instead of burning ferocity, instead of the ferocious youth of a Champion that had broken countless records and hearts, all Steven saw was a tired lady in her early twenties, dressed in casual home clothes and deprived of sleep.

Her lips curved, but her eyes didn't change. "Come on, Steven," she said. "We can't exactly leave you like this. Do you have any other clothes?"

He shook his head meekly, earning him another sigh.

"Wait a sec." She turned around and left before he could even say anything.

Steven lowered his eyes to the ground. He could see that a puddle of bath water had formed around him and was growing larger by the second. He almost smiled, but somehow, he just couldn't find it in himself to.

Cynthia returned with a small pile of clothes, which she handed over to Steven. "Change into that before you catch a cold."

"Thanks," he mumbled.

She gave no response, save for closing the bathroom door behind her.

He took his time to change, peeling the layers off one by one. She had given him a towel, which he was quite grateful for. If it were the old Cynthia, she probably would have kicked him out of the house and only let him in after a whole hour of begging.

If it were the old Cynthia, he thought with a bitter smile. What a stupid thing to say.

He pulled on the clothes given to him, surprised a little that they fit him. Though it didn't mean much, the black t-shirt and gray sweatpants felt more like a boy's clothes than a girl's. He shrugged the thought aside, though. Taking hold of his belt of Poké Balls in one hand and the rest of his clothes in the other, he exited the bathroom, only to find Cynthia waiting in the hall.

"They fit after all," she said.

"Huh? Oh, these...whose are..."

He stopped upon seeing her expression. Instead, he held up his own clothes halfheartedly. "Any suggestions?" he asked.

"I'll hang them up outside."

She took them from him, leaving him to stand there in the hallway. He turned off the lights of the bathroom before making his way down the hall, the opposite way from Cynthia. There, he found the living room, which contained a small little sofa and a coffee table. There was also a TV, though it was off at the moment.

Steven sat down on the sofa and dropped his belt beside him. The remote lay on the coffee table just a few feet away, but he didn't feel like reaching for it.

A few minutes later, Steven felt an intense panic strike him. It took a moment to realize it wasn't his own, and in that same moment, he found a Claydol being hurled at him. He managed to toss its Poké Ball at it before being hit in the head, returning it just in time to save himself from Cynthia's assault. She _hmph_ed a bit and dusted her hands off.

"Sorry about that," Steven said. He caught the Poké Ball Cynthia tossed to him.

"It's not a problem."

He grabbed his belt and put it on the coffee table instead, letting Cynthia sit down next to him. She seemed to have washed already, for now that he looked, her hair was still a bit wet. A pleasant scent came off of her: a homely scent, unlike the heavy perfumes that Steven was so tired of dealing with. Businessmen seemed to obsess over the most pointless of things.

He fidgeted a bit before finally speaking. "Would it be all right if I stayed the night?"

"Considering I've lent you clothes, I don't see how I have any way to object," Cynthia said simply. "Unless you want me to strip you naked and kick you out."

"...I suppose I'll take the couch."

"Indeed, I suppose you will."

Steven smiled a bit at that, turning his head to look at her. Her hands were on her lap, and her eyes staring blankly at the chair opposite them. He spoke softly: "It's been a while, hasn't it? How's Ciro? I haven't seen the team in a long time."

"Ciro's fine." She motioned vaguely towards the second floor, which is where Steven assumed she kept her Poké Balls. He waited a bit, hoping that she would go up and get them or perhaps offer for him to go up and see, but neither happened.

A shame, really; he _had _been wanting to see the Garchomp. "Well, how have _you_ been? Anything new—"

_Grrrooowwlll._ Steven put a hand to his stomach, a bit surprised by the sound. He gave a bashful smile before finishing, "...new to tell me?"

Cynthia sighed through her nose. She rose from the couch and turned to him, her lips curved slightly. A tiny flicker of amusement colored her gray eyes.

"Would spaghetti be all right with you? They'd be leftovers, mind you," she added in an almost weary voice.

Steven scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Much appreciated," he said, returning her small smile.

She wandered off again, though this time Steven followed. Through one of the doors, they entered a rather colorful room, with pink walls and soft green counters. It was a rectangular room and quite spacious, due to it housing both the kitchen and the dining room. A table sat in one corner, covered with a spotless white tablecloth. As always, Steven appreciated the room; it was one of the few places Cynthia chose to show a more feminine side.

Following Cynthia past the counters, Steven noticed a small Absol plushie sitting on the windowsill. He was sure it hadn't been there the last time he had visited, but it didn't exactly look new, either: the color was beginning to fade, and the Absol's expression was rather sunken. Still, it wasn't in bad condition; no limbs were missing, at any rate.

"Hey, Cynthia?" he asked, turning to her. "Where'd this Absol come from?"

There was no response. Steven glanced over to Cynthia and saw that she was rummaging through the refrigerator in the corner. He frowned a bit before voicing again, "Cynthia—?"

"She was a gift from a boy I knew." Her words were short, curt. "It was five years ago."

"I've never seen it...I mean, uh, _her_ before."

"I tend to keep her in Sinnoh." She pulled out a plate wrapped in foil, which Steven could clearly see contained the spaghetti matted with tomato sauce. Cynthia closed the refrigerator and placed the plate on one of the counters.

Steven patted the Absol on the head. "Why bring her all the way here, then?"

"Who knows?"

_Szzz_...hissed the noodles as Cynthia dumped them onto a frying pan. She lowered the stove heat a bit and began mixing the noodles around. Trying to ignore how delicious it smelled, Steven cleared his throat and asked, "Who was the boy?"

"One of my former students."

Steven blinked in surprise. "I didn't know you took any students," he admitted.

She flipped the noodles with another deft motion. "Well, he was a good enough Trainer to beat the Elite Four at age ten, but not enough to beat me. I thought if I raised him for a while, he'd get strong enough. Turns out five years still wasn't enough." She laughed a hollow laugh. "He left three years ago. Never came back. I don't expect him to ever again, either."

"Three years ago..." Steven mused. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the words slipped out of his mouth.

Cynthia nodded, her eyes still on the frying pan. "Three years ago, right before the ban. Oh," she said, turning her head, "you can sit down if you want."

Steven nodded and took one of the two seats at the table. A minute or two later, she came over to him and began setting the table. He thanked her as she laid the plate of steaming noodles in front of him, and he gladly took the fork and spoon. Cynthia brought over the Absol and held it in her hands before sitting across from him.

Steven poked at the noodles with his fork, smiling a bit wryly. "These are safe to eat, right?"

"Pardon?"

"Well," he said, spinning his fork in the sauce-coated mass, "if I remember correctly, you'd always forget that you put food in the fridge and it'd go bad before you remembered. Plus you never did the dishes, so I can't be sure that this plate or this fork are even clean or not..."

He glanced up at her. She wasn't even looking at him; she was petting the toy Absol with almost robotic motions. He frowned.

"It's fine," she said after a while. "Those were today's leftovers."

The calm response brought a very ironic anxiety with it. Steven gave up and took a bite, not even tasting it as he swallowed it down. He tried to find the urge to take a second bite but couldn't, so he merely put down his fork and sighed.

"Cynthia, is something the matter?" he finally asked.

She looked up. Her blonde hair shadowed half of her face, a natural parting that added to the enigmatic image she had retained since childhood. But the eye sharing Steven's gaze told him that things had changed: the gray had lost their steel, and dark circles now rested below her eyes, happy to be rid of the former intimidation.

"It's been tough for you, hasn't it, Steven?" Her tone was devoid of anything like that of questioning. She was merely stating facts, as if to herself. Not for reassurance. Not for comfort. For the mere sake of saying it, of speaking the truth.

Steven forced out a chuckle. "Neither of us have it as bad as Lance. He's gotta deal with two Leagues _and_ the government. Plus he has so many retrieval missions that it's absolutely ridiculous."

He waved his fork around a bit for added effect before stabbing down at the noodles. With the full intention of complimenting her cooking, he shoved a rather large amount of spaghetti into his mouth, only for the words to get stuck in his throat—

Wait, words didn't _literally_ get stuck.

"Mmph!" He banged on his chest, trying to force the noodles down. Cynthia jumped up to her feet, surprise flitting across her face.

"S-Steven?"

"Mwapher!"

She apparently understood him, for she dashed over to the kitchen. Within seconds, she was back with a glass of water, which Steven gratefully took. He took a long draught, wincing a bit as it pushed against the block in his throat.

After the spaghetti finally decided to go down, he took a very much desired gasp of breath. Suddenly exhausted, he let the strength leave him and rested his head on the edge of the table.

"Ugh..." he groaned. "Cynthia, your cooking...it's killer..."

For a second, Steven wondered if she was going to smack him across the head for that one. Instead, he got something much, much nicer: a laugh.

He raised his head. The Champion before him was giggling like a little schoolgirl. Disbelief ran through him, and he could only watch in wonder as a faint blush colored her pale face, and clear tears formed in her shining eyes.

"Y-you..." she gasped. "Y-you seriously...pfft...ahaha!"

"How was that funny?" he demanded. His anger was only slightly marred by a smile. "I almost choked thanks to you!"

She bent over, her hands on her knees. "How did you...ku..."

She was having a giggling fit, Steven realized. She was seriously having a giggling fit, and her laugh was contagious. He couldn't help but laugh alongside her, and soon their guffaws and hooplahs were echoing in the small house. It was a long time before they calmed down again, and by that point, their faces were already flushed a dark red.

Steven had to admit, it was great to hear her laugh again.

...

It was noon when Steven finally decided to wake up. Cynthia was already dressed (in a rather modest outfit of a dress shirt and nice black pants; she only had one Poké Ball around her belt, he noticed), and it seemed that this wasn't the first time she had woken him. His apologies fell on deaf ears, however, so he chose instead to simply prepare as quickly as possible. After a quick shower, he shoved as many pancakes as he could into his mouth, grabbed the rest of the stack, and then ran after Cynthia, who had decided he was taking too long after all.

He caught up to her along the sidewalk, and the two wandered out of the small neighborhood together. It was a nice place, with the trees in full spring bloom, and many small bird Pokémon fluttering around. Far better than the town's reputation, anyway; Steven had always heard Lacunosa Town was full of eccentrics, so he hadn't approved of Cynthia first buying her own house here. She had done so with no explanation whatsoever just over a year ago, which had concerned Steven, but it turned out to be a nice place. Now he was quite glad she had kept the house; it was the only place in Unova Steven felt comfortable.

A curious Pidove perched itself on Steven's shoulder, and he handed it one of his several pancakes. The satisfied little Pokémon flew off back to its nest, leaving the two Champions to watch with smiles.

It was in comfortable silence that they walked through the town. A few people every now and then glanced in their direction, but the majority of the town's population seemed to treat them as ordinary people. It was relieving to be able to let his shoulders fall and to smile genuinely rather than politely; nobody here seemed to be seeing him as a Champion or president.

It was only when Cynthia began leading them down a more colorful path that she decided to speak. "So, you've gotten everything, right?"

"Yeah. Again, sorry about this morning. I guess I've been a bit sleep deprived these days."

"It's really not a problem. If Alder scolds us, though, it's all on you."

Steven chuckled a bit at that. They stopped in the middle of the park, beside a small fountain. Nobody seemed to be around. At Cynthia's nod, he released Claydol from its Poké Ball, and both Champions placed their hands on its side.

"I guess Teleporting to Lance would be a good idea, right?" he asked.

"Indeed. That man never misses an appointment." Cynthia gave Steven a scathing look, which the silver-haired man chose to ignore.

"All right, then," he said hurriedly, "how about we get a move on? Claydol, Teleport!"

The same falling sensation ran through his body, and before he knew it, his feet were on stone rather than dirt and grass. A yelp escaped a certain red-haired individual standing before them.

"Steven, Cynthia!" Lance exclaimed. His hands were up in comical surprise, his eyes wide as saucers. Even his cape was aflutter, as if in shock. "You two really ought to stop Teleporting around all the time. It actually freaks me out sometimes."

Claydol seemed to enjoy that statement, though it enjoyed Cynthia's elbow a lot less. Steven returned the Pokémon before it had to go through any more torment. "Yeah, sorry about that, Lance. So we're back to holding meetings here, huh?"

Lance chuckled a bit before nodding. "Yup. Welcome back to the Hall of Kings."

The three looked up. Unova was known to be extravagant—after all, being the most urban of the regions had its benefits—but the sheer scale of the building before them was ridiculous. It was somewhere between "huge" and "gargantuan," with half a dozen stories of stone making up its height, and twice that making its width.

The Champion's chamber before them resembled a temple. The double doors were engraved with excruciatingly detailed markings, and they had to be twice as tall as Steven. Taking a step back, the young man had to let out an appreciative whistle: stained glass seemed to dominate the upper parts of the walls and colored the ceiling and roof. The building seemed mantled by a rainbow, as the whole entirety of it seemed to glow with color.

Beside Steven, Cynthia held a hand to her face. "Every time I see it, I can't help but think they went overboard," she said. She pulled her hand away, revealing a bemused smile on her face.

"I prefer my red brick," Lance agreed. "I'm sure Steven appreciates it, though. After all, the Hoenn League is at the top of a waterfall. That practically screams pretentiousness."

A bit embarrassed, Steven mumbled, "It's not like _I_ chose the location..."

The three Champions all smiled. Then, with a nod from each, they pushed open the double doors and entered the chamber.

The interior was also of stone, Steven noted as he stepped inside. The flooring was more or less a gigantic stone battlefield, perfectly flat and lacking any remarkable traits. Two lines of pillars, all of which were laced with golden dragons, seemed to support the building's roof. Aside from the pillars, though, the room was more or less plain, unless one was to count the odd gigantic sun stuck directly on the center of the back wall.

What was odd about the room was that all the light was distorted. Steven looked up, and he confirmed his suspicions: the only source of light was the sunlight that came through the stained glass. The image the glass portrayed was a common Unovan motif: the twin dragons, Reshiram and Zekrom. Red flames seized the left half of the ceiling; blue lightning and black clouds claimed the right half.

In the very center of the room, there was a small circular table with four cheap plastic lawn chairs. Steven and the others walked up to it—or rather, the person sitting at it.

"Welcome," Alder said. Half of his face was stained red; the other was a dark blue. Steven was pretty sure the rest of them were as awkwardly colored as well. "Please, have a seat."

Cynthia took the seat across from Alder, so Steven and Lance took the last two. They exchanged glances before turning back to the oldest Champion.

"I apologize if this meeting has interfered with your schedules. Especially you, Champion Steven." Alder dipped his head deeply. "With Devon Corporation in such a dire situation, I'm grateful that you took the time to come all the way to Unova."

"No, it's quite all right. My duties as a Champion include listening to my peers in such meetings as these."

As if satisfied with this answer, Alder nodded once more. He turned to Lance. "And Champion Lance, you as well. The missions of a G-Man are surely quite tiring. It seems that there has been a new surge in criminals creating Revives."

Lance nodded hesitantly. "A group of former Team Plasma members apparently got a hold of a Silph Co. recipe," he said. Steven turned his gaze to Lance; he hadn't heard this. "By the time I got to their base, however, they had already had an internal scuffle. One of them escaped with the recipe, and presumably any finished products."

"I see..." Alder rubbed his chin solemnly, his eyes on the table. "That's most worrisome. I'm sure that the G-Men are working hard to catch this man?"

"Yes...but unfortunately, I was the only witness, and I never actually got to see who it was. We're currently interrogating the rest of the members."

Surprisingly, Cynthia spoke up. "A shame you aren't there to join in the interrogation, huh?"

Lance chuckled a bit. "No, my specialties are beating people up, not getting the beaten to talk. I'd be a deadweight."

"Now, now, don't say that," Alder said, smiling. His expression quickly turned serious. "Our matters today are numerous, but I believe we can get through them all within a few hours. If there are any concerns, please state them now or wait until we are done discussing—"

_BANG!_ A resounding explosion ripped through the room, making everyone jump to their feet. Everyone turned to the door, where the source of the noise was leaning against the open door.

It was a young man. He was almost completely shadowed, for the sun was shining against his back, but Steven could at least make out that much. His hair and clothing were all dark, making it even harder to see. A shining loose chain hung from his belt, which six Poké Balls seemed to be sticking to.

"I've got a concern." His voice was deep and calm, almost disarmingly so. It carried despite the distance separating them. "Actually, several."

"Who are you?" Alder asked. He, too, was calm, but his voice had a very slight yet very sharp edge to it. "This is a Champions' meeting; everyone else is supposed to stay out."

"Odd. Your nurse never said anything about that. Nor did any of your Elite Four... Very odd, indeed. What do you think of this, _Champion_ Alder?"

He practically spat the word "Champion" out. The door swung closed behind him as he stepped forward, and he was soon bathed in a red glow. Black hair, dark eyes, and a bit of a tan... Steven didn't recognize him.

"Either way," Alder growled, "this isn't the time or place."

"What are you talking about? Isn't it normal for a Champion to battle the challenger? I've defeated your Elite Four. Though..I guess you're the first Champion to actually be here waiting for me."

The words hung in the air for a second. Steven suddenly felt a little chill run down his spine; the Elite Four of Unova were supposedly the strongest of all five regions. Having battled some of them himself, he knew they were Champion-tier Trainers.

The young man seemed to only just notice the other Champions. "Oh, look who we have here. Lance...Steven...why, even Cynthia!"

A small laugh seemed to escape him with the last name. Steven turned to Cynthia—horror seemed lost on her quivering lip.

Lance's words broke the silence. "You must be...Ashton Rhodes."

The words practically echoed in the absolute silence of the room, yet the young man merely smiled.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Second release, and I'm already a day late. Guys, this is just a sign of great things to come.**

**Well, the way this fic is written is probably already very obvious. I'm switching perspectives with each chapter. With four Champions, though, who will take chapter five? Hmm...I wonder...  
><strong>

**Ignoring my sarcasm, hope you all have had a great weekend. Get ready for Valentine's Day! Even though I won't be doing anything special, I'm sure that tons of others will. So, have fun all of you who do!**

**See y'all next week!**


	3. Comfort - In His Arms

_Comfort_

_- In His Arms -_

* * *

><p>Her dreams were nightmares.<p>

They would start nice. A nice little clearing, perhaps. Or maybe a park. The sky would be clear as glass, the sun shining brightly. It would be cool, not hot and not cold, and she would be sitting with her Pokémon around her, a young boy beside her. They would simply be enjoying each other's company, the soft breeze tickling at their skin.

Then the dream would tear apart. Blue skies turned black as the darkest of nights came, and clouds spilled in the color of wine, raining blood and staining the fields red—a sickening, vivid red that seemed to blind her, splashing across the walls of mind with unforgettable gore. It shook her, broke her, and brought her to her knees, arm clutching arm, her eyes glossed with tears. The boy would no longer be there, having long since abandoned her, and no one would be there to help her back up.

And then she would wake up, and the world would better, if only slightly. And that pathetic fact that pacified her, that horrible excuse for comfort, would only bring more tears, for she knew how much the world had changed.

"Ashton," she would whisper to herself. Over and over and over again. "Ashton, Ashton, Ashton." The name had lost its meaning. Had it had a meaning in the first place? Why did she care so much for something like a name?

The boy had haunted her dreams. But he was a young man now. Taller than her. Bigger than her. A slim but powerful body, a weakened yet still strong man. The broken hero, alongside the fallen Champion.

Ashton Rhodes stood before her.

Her legs were suddenly jelly underneath her. Unable to support her anymore, they gave way, and she stumbled forward. The momentum forced her to take a step—and then another, and another, until it was no longer momentum pushing her forward.

She ran to him. One step at a time, one painful rushed step at a time. She spread her arms, fully intending to embrace the idiot of a child. A flash of light blinded her, but she was moving too fast to stop now. Eyes closed, she crashed into his chest, her right arm in front of her. The force didn't even seem to faze him, though pain coursed through her arm with a burning malice.

She forced her eyes to open, trying to clear the blur obstructing her vision. And finally, she could see him. His face was but mere inches away, his lips curved into an unmistakable smile.

But it wasn't _his_ smile.

"Please excuse me, Cynthia," he said. He put a hand on her shoulder—and then she smashed into the ground. She let out a small exclamation of pain, but Ashton paid her no mind. His eyes were on something else.

"Cynthia!" she heard Steven call from across the room. Then, the sharp _clack!_ of metal on stone rang in the room, and an accompanying light swept away the darkness. "Claydol, Earth Power!"

Another resounding clang. Another flashing light. "Dragonite, Dragon Rush!"

"Stop it!" Alder shouted. "All of you, this is—"

"Sensa," Ashton said, "Night Slash."

From the ground, Cynthia watched with mute horror. The Absol that stood between her and the other Champions, the Absol Cynthia had helped Ashton raise, raised her head to the sky. When she brought her head back down, slashing through the air with the horn on her head, a shadowed blade cut through the air before her. It gouged the ground as it flew, carving an ugly scar into the stone and halting the Earth Power that hungrily crawled towards them, before it hit the blur that was Lance's Dragonite.

For a horrible, horrible second, Cynthia simply watched. Watched as the blade traveled straight through the dragon, watched as it seemed to cut right through flesh and bone. And then, the dragon crashed into the ground, unscathed yet unconscious. The shadows nearly cut through Claydol as well, only for the Pokémon to disappear into thin air—Steven along with it.

"S-Steven?" Lance exclaimed. Cynthia turned, only to see that Steven had reappeared next to him. The two shared a quick nod, and after returning his defeated Dragonite to its Poké Ball, Lance, too, disappeared. Before she knew it, the two were right in front of her.

Beside her, Ashton chuckled.

"Cynthia, take care of that Absol!" Steven said. She looked up—and then she was suddenly alone.

No, not alone; Sensa still stood before her.

Her eyes were on Cynthia. Her white fur was tinted red in the light, which further darkened the deep color of her blood-shaded eyes. The eyes that had once held the spark of aspiration, ones that Cynthia had had to face countless times before with all her strength, now held a different flame. The fire seemed to dull slightly as the Absol inclined her head to Cynthia.

Come, Sensa seemed to say. The doors opened, as if on their own, and Sensa bounded out of the building. Cynthia cast Alder one last look—his expression shadowed as he stood there, alone—before sprinting after the Absol.

The noonday sun glared at her as she ran, attacking her, seizing her of her vision in a desperate attempt to stop her. Cynthia merely gritted her teeth and followed the silhouette in the distance, stumbling over scattered debris along the stone path. The bronze tower of the Elite Four provided her with shade for a few moments, but Sensa's figure on top of the Pokémon Center was more than enough motivation for Cynthia to leave its comfort.

She nearly crashed into the door as she flung it open. The Nurse Joy looked up from the front desk, asking her something along the lines of "What's wrong, Champion Cynthia?" but Cynthia paid her no mind. The red rugs decorating the floor disturbed her: their color was much too like that of blood. Through the front entrance's glass doors, Cynthia could see Sensa waiting in front of the Pokémon Center. She resumed her sprint, and the Absol resumed hers.

Ashton, Ashton, Ashton. Just that one name was enough to get her legs moving again, even after three years of wasting away. How sad. The thought brought a sour taste to Cynthia's mouth, but she didn't think of stopping for even an instant.

It seemed like hours that they continued to run. Past the stone tiled entrance of the Unova League, past the dirt path beyond that, past the entrance to Victory Road, past the shadows of towering trees—never did Cynthia have a chance to catch her breath. Sensa would wait for her whenever the need arose, but she would continue to retreat the moment Cynthia caught up, leaving the Champion to huff and puff after her.

Her skin glistened with sweat, her heart pounded with effort, her eyes blurred with frustration; Cynthia found herself smiling bitterly. When was the last time she had run? She had gotten so lazy. What a Champion she was; what a great role model for all the new Trainers. Everything ached, ached with the ripples of long-lost memories, ached from the effort that had once been commonplace.

Her feet were starting to slip, unused to the damper grounds of the forest. Hadn't she used to run with Ashton? Morning jogs, just the two of them. Even Sensa had joined them, sometimes. And so had Ciro, come to think of it. Running around the League building, cooling down in the lounge, having breakfast with the Elite Four...

Pain shot through her ankle, and she felt the strength leave her. She crumpled. Her knees hit the ground hard, and pain slashed at her: burning, seething. It seemed the leaves were hiding branches underneath them.

It was an odd feeling. Cynthia hadn't felt pain in a while.

A sharp _snap!_ raised her head. Sensa was walking toward her, her paws breaking the scattered branches. Her expression had the same solemnity to it as always, and she was just as silent as always, too. Cynthia knew, though.

The Champion pushed herself up off the ground. Her ankle screeched with pain, but Cynthia ignored it. Her scraped knees were crying out to her, but there was no time to lose. Her lungs were groaning in agony, but Ashton was waiting for her.

She forced her lips to move: "Sorry."

Sensa gave her an unreadable look before turning back around. She walked this time, leading Cynthia slowly over the bed of fallen leaves and broken branches.

Every step was agony. Cynthia had dealt with sprains and fractures before, but memory could not compare to reality. The pain was infuriating: not enough to keep her down, just enough to reduce her to a crippled limp. Cynthia could hardly keep up the pace, despite the fact they were hardly moving faster than a crawl. It had been a long time since she had felt such frustration.

She was weak. Too weak to fix the ruined world, too weak to tell Alder that Revives were necessary, too weak to even get up and walk to a child she had so much to say to.

"Arceus damn it," she hissed between clenched teeth. Sensa glanced back at her, but the Absol either had nothing to say or met her with quiet acceptance. Whichever the case, they continued the rest of the walk in silence.

Step by step, Cynthia continued. And as she grew closer to Ashton, so, too, did she hold her dear memories closer. She recalled the times they had cooked together. She recalled the times they had battled. She even remembered the simple chats they used to have late into the night, laughing at jokes or arguing over who was the better Trainer.

"I'll beat you one day," the boy would always say.

"In your dreams," Cynthia would always retort.

That same Ashton, the one she had seen grow from a rookie to a full-grown teenager, used to have such a sweet voice. Not to mention his flirtatious attitude...it was a rather dangerous combination. And now, the voice that reached her ears, the voice that spoke its commands, was an empty echo of that voice. Devoid of any former kindness, lost in something she couldn't hope to understand.

The others were shouting. Cynthia forced her legs to move as fast as they could, but Sensa's movements in front of her were as calm as before. She seemed oblivious to the sounds of battle just ahead of them. The Absol sauntered along the now-grassy path, moving past trees so smoothly it was as if she were swimming through the air.

The shouts grew louder. Cynthia pushed past the trees. They were close, now. Just a few more, just a few more...

The trees parted before her, and the intense light momentarily blinded her once again. Colors danced in her eyes, but the scene before her still was much too apparent.

Steven, kneeling. Lance, on the ground. A bleeding Dragonite and a muddy Metagross, both watching the red-haired Champion. A Houndoom, its fangs bared, the ashes of the grass circling it. _Him_ by its side.

"Three," the young man said. "That's all you two could do against me. You took out three Pokémon for your ten. Do you see now? Give it up."

"Idiot," Steven hissed. "You seriously think that this'll solve anything? If you go after Alder, what will that accomplish?"

"I'm not accomplishing something by doing this." He crossed his arms and smirked. "Murder is an accomplishment in itself, no?"

The words struck her harder than a physical slap. Cynthia couldn't contain her rage. Her hands fumbled with the Poké Ball, shaking with fury. Her yell was a surprise even to her.

"Ciro, _Dragon Rush_!"

The blurring semblance of a dragon shot forward, giving no time for any of the Trainers to react. The deafening sound of contact momentarily cleared the rush in Cynthia's head. The impact expelled a buffeting wind, whipping at her hair and at the leaves of the trees. A second clash followed the first, twice as loud and forceful enough to tear the ground apart. The _crack!_ of breaking bones seemed to burrow its way into Cynthia, shaking her violently.

A dull ringing noise seemed to echo in her head. On the ground, in the bottom of a crater, lay her fallen Garchomp. The Champion's mouth opened, but no noise came out of her mouth.

"Counter. Wasn't it you who taught me not to be reckless when you don't know your opponent's moveset, Cynthia?"

She turned to him. He was petting his Houndoom on the head, though he soon returned the Pokémon to its Poké Ball. He cast Ciro a pitying look before meeting Cynthia's gaze.

There was no mistaking that face. But the expression...

"Ashton." Her voice nearly broke. She took a step forward, but her ankle jerked painfully underneath her, dropping her to one knee.

His eyes were an empty black. "Cynthia," he said. He said her name, yet it wasn't a name at all on his lips. It was merely a word, three syllables strung together without meaning. He echoed himself, quieter this time: "Cynthia."

Steven's Metagross broke the silence with a sudden charge. It flew forward, propelling itself with a blast of psychic energy, only to be met midway. Sensa moved so quickly it seemed she simply disappeared and reappeared, her body flickering with the speed of her movement, her attack equally fast. The Metagross smashed into the ground, a mere few feet away from Ciro.

Unsteadily, Cynthia rose. The pain was blinding, but still Ashton was in plain sight. His once-pale skin was darker now, his usually upturned lips an unmoving line, but he was still the boy she had once known. She refused to accept his maniacal declarations. They were a joke. A prank. Some silly little game he had come up with to make their reunion more interesting.

"Steven." The name felt coarse in her dry mouth. She had to cough it out. "Steven, take Lance away from here. Far away."

"But Cynthia—"

"Just _go_!"

His gaze faltered before her glare. The young man returned his and Lance's Pokémon to their capsules and released his Claydol. With one last look at Cynthia, he lowered his head and disappeared, leaving ash and blood behind him.

Returning Ciro to his Poké Ball, Cynthia forced herself to take a few steps. Close the distance, she told herself. Get closer. Force him to speak.

_But if Lance and Steven couldn't do it..._

"It's been three years," Cynthia said. Her legs shook underneath her, her voice trembled, her ankle nearly gave out, but she managed to hold it all together.

"Three very long years."

Her ankle was burning at this point. One step at a time. One. More. Step.

Ashton put his hands in his pockets. "How the world has changed in such a span of time. They say time accelerates with every passing day."

The distance couldn't have been more than a few meters now. Cynthia forced herself to smile. "They're considering changing Trainer laws now."

"So I've heard. Ten-year-olds are far too young, aren't they? Alder's reasoning is perfectly sound. Without Revives, death is not uncommon. Surely that's too much for those innocent little brats to handle. Fifteen-year-olds—they should be old enough to handle it."

The smile slipped slightly at his tone. "Not everyone's a child genius like you were."

"Perhaps. But even idiots didn't have to worry about death when money could buy life."

If he would just reach out his arm to her, she would have been able to grasp his hand. He wasn't even looking at her; his eyes were on Sensa, who was circling the crater she had created.

"I don't remember you having a Houndoom." Her voice was just barely above a whisper. Tears were forming in her eyes: frustrated, bitter tears, full of pain and sorrow. One step closer.

He turned to her. "I don't remember you decorating your face with dirt, but I guess that's how life goes."

She tried to chuckle, but all she could do was smile. "I'm sure that I'm a mess right now."

"Mess doesn't even cover it."

She held out both arms. He merely stared at her for a few seconds, completely still. She waited.

He pulled her into a one-armed embrace.

* * *

><p><em>"<em>You_ beat the Elite Four?"_

_ "Yeah! I'm here to battle you for the title of Champion."_

_ Cynthia frowned down at the little boy. He wasn't even up to her chest, and yet he had somehow made it to the Champion's chamber? Ridiculous. Her Elite Four must have been joking around._

_ "All right, I'll take you on," she said. It wouldn't even be a contest. Ciro would crush this kid—no, Ciro would be too much. Perhaps she would start with someone else, like Charis..._

* * *

><p>"Why did you disappear like that?" she mumbled. Her words were caught in his shoulder, lost in the fabric of his jacket.<p>

"Sorry."

His grip suddenly tightened around her. His hand dug into her shoulder, and his free arm wrapped around her back.

"Ash," she choked. "Too...tight..."

She expected him to pull back and apologize. The old Ashton would have jumped away from her, gotten to his knees and begged for forgiveness. But the pressure didn't lessen at all; Cynthia was beginning to have trouble breathing.

"I'm sorry."

The discomfort passed into pain. Her vision was beginning to blur, her breathing becoming ragged. Was he...actually crushing her?

Her head was starting to swim.

* * *

><p><em>"Aw man...they were right when they said the Champion was stronger..." He was on his knees beside his defeated Absol, petting the Dark-type with a pained expression. "I'm so sorry, Sensa. It was totally my fault; I shouldn't have let that happen..."<em>

_ "Here," Cynthia said. She tossed him a Revive. "Your Absol'll be fine."_

_ She still couldn't believe that a child had forced her to use her ace. Losing to him would have been an embarrassment...it was amazing he had defeated even three of her Pokémon. But that had been his limit; she had too many years more experience than him._

_ His expression was an honest one. She smiled and asked, "Want me to tell you why you lost?"_

_ "Ehh? I take it back, you're not nice at all."_

_ "...I meant as a teacher. I'll help you become a better Trainer. Then who knows, maybe you'll become the next Champion."_

_ "Really!?"_

_ He literally jumped to his feet with excitement. Cynthia blinked a few times in surprise._

_ "Sure. Ashton, right? I'm Cynthia." She chuckled a bit. "Let's see if we can make you a legend."_

* * *

><p>"Ash..." Her voice was pathetic, like a whimper. She tried to push him away, but he showed no signs of letting go. If anything, his grip grew tighter once more, pressing her against him with a frightening force.<p>

When had he gotten so strong? She remembered him as a scrawny teenager who hadn't improved at all from his genius childhood. He had been the one to quit after five push-ups, the one to faint after the first minute of jogging. She had always been helping him up, cheering him up when he was depressed, holding him close to her heart...

Pounding on his back, Cynthia struggled to stay conscious. Every inch of her body seemed to be weighed down. She could feel hot tears streaming down her face. She tried to call his name, but her lungs were out of air. Still her lips formed the letters in one last desperate attempt.

This was pathetic. What was this, death by embracing? How would they show this in the newspapers—"Champion Discovered Hugged to Death"?

Her fingers grasped hopelessly at his collar. His warmth was consuming her. She wanted out.

* * *

><p><em>"Happy birthday!"<em>

_ She looked up. He was holding out a poorly wrapped box, complete with a little ribbon tied into a bow._

_ "What's this?" she asked._

_ "Wow, Cynth, you really are stupid. It's called a birthday present."_

_ She smacked him across the head, and he yipped like a Lillipup. Just because he was a teenager now didn't give him the right to be a smart aleck... She took the gift with a hand and flipped it over._

_ "I'm opening it, okay?"_

_ His lips curved into a wide smile. "I think you'll like it; I got the others to help me choose."_

_ She pulled the gift paper off and opened the box. Inside was—_

_ She smacked him once more. "Thanks, but no thanks."_

_ The teen was on the ground, laughing. "AHAHA! THAT EXPRESSION! Man, Cynthia, lighten up!"_

_ The gaudy red lingerie fluttered to the ground. She didn't bother picking it up._

_ "Okay, okay, real present." He reached underneath the sofa and pulled out a box—when the hell had he put that there?—which he then handed to her. It was much bigger than the first, and rather cubical._

_ "Is this really a present?" she asked, glaring at him._

_ "Well, you're eighteen now. The guys were just saying you might want to get lai—yes, it's a real present!"_

_ She sighed and opened the box. She blinked a few times at the contents before pulling the plushie out._

_ "Ain't she cute?"_

_ Cynthia held the stuffed Absol to her chest. "Hm...I guess a little."_

_ The two shared grins. Ashton looked as if he were about to say something, but he was cut off by a loud, "HEY, YOU TWO, CAKE TIME!"_

_ "Cake time!" Ashton echoed. He bounced to his feet and dashed away, leaving Cynthia to shake her head and follow, Absol in hand._

* * *

><p>She could feel his heart against her chest. She could feel it racing, as fast as her own—no, maybe even faster. Or was reality falling apart, and she couldn't even tell what was fast and what was slow? Had her heart already given up hope, slowing to a mere crawl to match his?<p>

His breathing sounded ragged to her ears—but, then again, she could barely hear anything. She felt as if she were submerged in an endless ocean, struggling against the depths and trying to find the surface. There was no chance; she was out of air, and her sight was darkening.

It was over. She couldn't even hold her head up anymore. His shoulder wasn't at all comfortable...

* * *

><p><em> "Trouble...? Yeah... No, I'm fine... Don't do anything stupid; I'll get there as soon as I can... Yep... All right, bye."<em>

_ He hung up. Cynthia waited for him to put away his phone before asking._

_ "Trouble, you say?"_

_ Ashton nodded. "She says it's those Plasma guys. Judging from the news, they seemed more like a Pokémon rights group, but...that Ghetsis guy, their leader. Hilda says something's weird about him."_

_ "I can't say there isn't. He's an odd guy."_

_ "Not like that. She thinks they're going to do something big, but the police won't listen to her. It seems they've got some influence in Unova."_

_ "So you're going?"_

_ "Yeah." Ashton scratched his cheek. "It shouldn't take too long. I'll come back right away, so don't get lonely, eh Cynth?"_

_ "Don't be ridiculous."_

_ "Yeah, we both know how hard that is for me."_

_ She smiled before pulling him into a hug. She put her lips to his ear. "Come back quickly," she whispered._

_ "Of course I will."_

* * *

><p>Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy. She was tired...so, so tired...<p>

Her ankle didn't hurt so much anymore. There was warmth over her shoulders. It was comforting. The breeze played with her hair, too, so she found it easy to let herself go.

Was she on the ground? She couldn't tell. The weight had left her, leaving her so light, oh so very light. Everything felt lovely all of a sudden...was that breath in her lungs, or was she imagining it?

Something touched her forehead. Lightly, and just for a second. She couldn't tell if it was hot or cold, rough or soft—all she could tell was that everything was growing darker and darker.

_Ashton_, she tried to whisper. _Ashton..._

* * *

><p><strong>AN - For the record, this is my least favorite chapter of this series, but I feel it's the most important. That's why I'll tolerate it, :P **

**In any case, here's an on-time release! To be honest, there's a lot of stuff I'd like to talk about in this author's note, but it's all personal crap so I won't bother y'all with it. But I'd like to thank everyone who's read this story so far, and all my other works as well. You all make my struggles seem so much more worth it, :)**

**Thanks for the review, Alumina! I'm glad that the idea at least makes sense; I was worried maybe it was a bit too outlandish for a Pokemon fic, haha.**

**See y'all next week!**


	4. Recall - For the Past

_Recall_

_- For the Past -_

* * *

><p>As the double doors creaked open, a small sliver of light spilled into the room, running straight across all the way to Alder in a perfect line. The setting sun's orange tint mixed with the overarching stained glass, softening the red and distorting the blue. The young man entering was bathed in a marred mix of the two colors, and Alder smiled at his approach.<p>

"Welcome," the Champion greeted, splaying his hands in mock courtesy, "to my humble abode. I trust the other Champions have treated you well up until now? Wherever are they, pray tell?"

The man returned the smile, and he walked over to the center of the room, over to Alder. His pace was painfully slow, testing Alder's patience. It must have been a minute before he reached him, whereupon the young man picked up two of the lawn chairs, set them across from each other, and sat down in one, motioning for Alder to sit across from him.

The Champion hid a frown as he sat down. The young man took this as his cue to speak.

"Your friends are all quite close. Steven did not Teleport us far—though, it was far enough that it was quite the journey for Cynthia." He laughed rather pleasantly. "They were quite the gracious hosts. Why, I dare say the Champions were awfully lenient with me today. They let me win my battles far too easily. Almost like a rigged race."

Alder faked a chuckle. At this distance, he could see flecks of blood on the young man's shirt. It was impossible not to ask: "What did you do to them?"

"Nothing much." The man leaned back in the chair, which creaked uncomfortably. "Steven is probably busy taking care of the other two. They seemed to have...ah, fallen asleep."

A cold rush ran through Alder's body. His eyes widened slightly, and he stared at the man before him, unable to believe that such a young Trainer could have possibly defeated the others so easily. Such a deceiving smile he had, with his cheek resting on his hand, his eyes gazing up at Alder ever so congenially.

It was disgusting how _pleasant_ this man was.

"Now, Alder, I'm sure you know why I'm here?"

The Champion's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you should remind me."

For a split second, the look in his eyes gained a razor-sharp edge. It was as quick to fade as it was to come, and Alder was left wondering if it had even been there in the first place. But the expression had been unmistakable: hatred. Absolute utter hatred, and one so deeply imbedded that Alder had no chance of placating it.

That look was the first and only warning the young man gave him.

One of the Poké Balls on his belt burst open, and a Mightyena materialized on the stone. Alder leapt to his feet, sending the lawn chair to scrape along the ground, and barely had time to reach for his own Poké Balls before the Pokémon lunged for him.

"Accelgor, Quick Attack!"

Light splashed across the floor and walls as Accelgor materialized in a shower of sparks. The Mightyena was met in midair by the Bug Pokémon. Snarling, Leo twisted around, just barely managing to land on his feet. Accelgor touched down onto the ground lightly across from him.

Alder scowled at the young man. "What's with you, attacking all of a sudden?"

Still seated, the man shrugged his shoulders. "You should know why I'm here. If you can't remember something as simple as that, then that's your problem."

"Remember? Remember _what_?"

The young man glanced over at his Mightyena, who pawed the ground impatiently before pouncing forward. Startled, Accelgor hesitated just a moment too long, and was knocked into the air by a headbutt.

With a screech, he let off a Bug Buzz, blasting out waves of flickering red energy everywhere. The entire temple seemed to shake from the noise, and the stone began to crack. The Mightyena was unimpressed, however, and raised its head. Ghastly light, purple edged black, twisted and distorted into the vague shape of a ball—a Shadow Ball. The deformed sphere tore through the air and howled, blowing away Accelgor and knocking it to the ground.

Giving no time for recovery, Leo lunged once more for Accelgor. The Bug Pokémon rose to his feet, pivoting on the stone to sidestep the attack. The Mightyena barreled past him, spun back around, and snarled, only to charge again. Alder didn't even need to speak; Accelgor already knew what to do. With a deft movement, he slid underneath Leo, twirled back upright, and blasted out another Bug Buzz attack.

Alder saw the young man's lips move, but he couldn't hear the command over the screeching noise. Leo lowered its head, blast after blast shaking its body. Then, Alder noticed something: after every hit, the Mightyena seemed to be glowing darker and dark.

Glowing...? Then it was—Payback!

"Accelgor, get out—!"

He was too slow. Leo lashed out, and Accelgor was sent flying. He slid along the ground before finally smashing into the wall. The loud _crack!_ sent shivers down Alder's spine.

The half-broken body hit the ground loudly and lay there.

"Remember yet, Alder?" the man asked. He gazed up towards the ceiling and tapped a finger on one of the white plastic armrests, as if merely counting seconds off the clock. "Because the longer it takes you to remember, the more difficult this battle is going to be for you."

Alder's fingers dug into the Poké Ball as he returned Accelgor. The cold metal helped soothe him, and he took a few breaths to make sure he kept under control. With as calm a voice he could muster, he spoke.

"Impressive," he said. The muscles of his mouth seemed to be set in stone, so hard it was to smile. Yet still he forced the corners to curve, to give off the illusion of confidence. There was no point in asking questions; he knew they wouldn't be answered. Only battle could solve this for him.

"Go, Escavalier!"

The knight-like Pokémon hit the ground heavily. His opponent took a few paces back, retreating to its Trainer's side cautiously, though its eyes glowed with excitement.

The man inclined his head. "Dark Pulse."

Leo raised its head and let out a roar. A black aura cloaked its body before bursting forth, a rippling shadow shooting towards Escavalier and darkening the entire room. Escavalier merely dug his two lances into the ground and endured the attack, the waves bouncing off his steel shell harmlessly.

Alder narrowed his eyes. Remnants of the Dark Pulse still hung in the air like a black fog, hiding the enemy from view. He ordered a quick "Escavalier, Protect," watching as green vapor-like energy swirled around the Escavalier in a dome shape to harden into a crystallized shield.

Leaping out from the right, Leo rushed toward Escavalier, only to be knocked back by the Protect. It dug its paws into the ground and slid to a stop, growling in frustration. Its eyes had a dangerous look to them—bloodlust. The shield spiraled out of existence, banishing the last remains of darkness, and Leo pounced immediately. With no time to protect himself, Escavalier was knocked to the ground and rolled in a messy rumble—teeth bared, lances slashing, and scarlet droplets splattering across the cracked stone.

On the ground, Escavalier slashed straight up, forcing the Mightyena to pull away. A single cut spilled blood from Leo's face, a razor-thin line across its cheek. The red seemed to glow as Leo stepped into the blue half of the room, turning its fur a shade of aqua.

Alder took the young man's silence as an opening. "Escavalier, X-Scissor!"

Escavalier slashed through the air with both arms and expelled a ghostly white X. The air sung as it was cut apart by the attack, and Leo was only narrowly able to avoid its sting. The Dark-type jumped to the side—only to be met with Escavalier's quickly approaching lances.

The Twineedle attack never met its mark. Leo slid between the two lances and collided directly with Escavalier's steel body, forcing him to the ground. The impact caused the Mightyena to wince, however, and the Bug Pokémon managed to escape from its grasp. Leo's foreleg shook slightly as it slowly backed away.

Alder glanced at Leo's leg. Then, with a faint smile, he called, "Aerial Ace, to your left!"

Leo tried to dodge, but its leg gave way. His entire body fell downwards, and Escavalier rushed forward, lances at the ready. Unable to move, the Mightyena could only watch as Escavalier raised his arms—

"Fire Fang."

—and tore straight through the steel protrusions.

Smoking, Escavalier backed away, his left lance now a useless stump of smoldering metal. The plating fell apart to reveal a tiny black stub of an arm, reaching out from inside the armor, grasping at air for the broken weapon. Leo watched from afar, its fangs still flickering with a red-hot heat. Its ears pricked as the steel hit the ground, the cries echoing in the silence of the room.

"Escavalier," Alder shouted, "Protect!"

But he was too late.

Leo growled lowly before barking straight at Escavalier. A solid force of sound smashed into the steel plating, crushing a heavy indentation into the hole. Suddenly constricted, Escavalier hit the ground, unable to even move.

A sinister flame danced along Leo's fangs as it approached its fallen opponent. But it halted, turning to its Trainer.

"Enough, Leo."

The Mightyena lowered its head, and the flames faded. Its leg still shook underneath it.

"Now," the man said. He rose to his feet slowly, and with an equally controlled speed, he raised a Poké Ball at Leo. The Mightyena disappeared in a ray of light—as did Escavalier opposite it. Almost smiling, the challenger turned to Alder. "How was that for an opening round?"

Alder couldn't even summon up the strength to smile anymore. He merely grasped at his next Poké Ball.

Two capsules burst open on the stone, and two Pokémon formed in their glow. The little ice-cream cone that had so often been ridiculed entered the battlefield, and he hovered a few feet off the ground with a cheery smile. With the Pokémon came a chilling drop in temperature.

But that chill was quickly overcome by a sweltering heat.

"Aduro," the Trainer began, raising his arm, "Inferno."

The Houndoom opened its mouth—and, as if all Hell had broken loose, flames flooded forward and began to engulf the entire room. A deity of fire, tearing across the floor towards the insignificant bug before it, ripping apart stone and sky and devouring everything in its path. The entire floor cracked, tile after tile shattering under the overwhelming heat, glowing as if set ablaze. Everything was swathed in a red-hot light, a heat flickering like a dying light and dancing along the walls and floor.

Vanilluxe took a sharp intake of breath but choked, as if the very air itself had been singed. In desperate retaliation, he blasted out a massive gale of ice and snow—a Blizzard, capable of encasing the entire temple in ice—yet before the conflagration, it was but a sacrifice to be consumed, and the flames swallowed the Blizzard whole. There was a loud sizzle as water evaporated, steam and smoke funneling through the room.

Alder wanted nothing more than to slam his hands to his ears as the piercing cries of his Pokémon reached him. Right before his very eyes, his Pokémon was being eaten alive by the murderous fire, being shredded apart by bloodthirsty flames. It wasn't possible; this could not be happening, this could not be happening—

"Druddigon!" he screamed, the Poké Ball nearly slipping out of his clammy grasp as he threw it, "Aqua Tail!"

The blue dragon solidified out of light and swung his tail through the air. Pressurized water snapped forth like a whip cracks through the air, straight towards the burning figure. The flames were torn apart yet left sank their venom into the water's depths, leaving billowing steam to flood the room—but the force of the Aqua Tail continued along its ravaging path, lashing against the walls and engraving deep grooves into the stone.

Vanilluxe fell to the ground amongst the rubble of broken stone tiles. Black burns splayed across his once-light skin, ugly wounds that proved his defeat. Alder couldn't even bear to look as he returned him to his Poké Ball.

He turned to the man in rage. "You're a monster," he growled through clenched teeth. The air had a bitter edge to it; a burnt, smokey flavor. He slashed his hand through the air and shouted, "Are you out for murder? Is that what this is?"

The man appraised him with narrowed eyes. "Murder?" he echoed softly. "That's funny, Alder. Is it so hard to see the roles reversed on you?"

Fury clawed at Alder's chest. The words caught in his throat, and his voice was brittle as he yelled his command: "Druddigon, Aqua Tail!"

The dragon flung another great tidal wave through the air with his tail, this time straight for the dark beast—but before he or his Trainer could even realize it, the Houndoom had disappeared. The watery attack collided with the ground, sending up shingles and dust everywhere and wetting the floor.

The dull thud of bodily contact turned Alder's attention to Druddigon, who was thoroughly smashed into the ground. The Houndoom had one foot on the fallen dragon, its tail slicing through the air back and forth, its fangs bared and glistening in the glow of the stained glass light—a regal purple.

Alder gritted his teeth. "Superpower!"

A low rumble sounded from deep inside Druddigon as he slammed his hands to the ground. Stone was crushed under his clenching claws, and with a roar, the dragon slashed through the air with an arm to straighten himself up, twisting upright and flinging Aduro off. The Houndoom spun through the air and gently touched the ground, its back to Druddigon, seeming almost to smile as it turned to face its foe once again.

Druddigon lumbered towards Aduro, clumsily lugging himself along faults in the floor and scattered shards of stone. As he neared the Houndoom, he swung his arm, a white glow emanating from every inch of his body. Aduro merely stood there, waiting—and, at the last second, pounced.

Just as Leo had stepped into Escavalier's attack, Aduro closed in on Druddigon. Baring its fangs, the Houndoom clamped down on the arm hanging by the dragon's side. The dragon howled and, racked with pain, jerked in violent retaliation, causing the swung fist to shift in direction. The Superpower just barely scratched along the top of the ground, yet still it sent a wave of destruction to tear the stone in its wake and divide the room into two halves.

The Houndoom leapt away from the Druddigon and spat out a glob of blood onto the cracked floor. Druddigon took a shaky step back, a hand at his shoulder. The scaly skin there had been punctured and ripped apart, spilling red everywhere.

A bright light enveloped the dragon as he dematerialized back into the Poké Ball in Alder's grip. The Champion slipped the capsule back onto the cord around his neck and pulled another off, a murderous hiss escaping through his tightly closed lips.

"Earthquake!" the Champion roared.

The entire temple trembled as the massive Pokémon smashed down onto the ground. With a deep, vibrating bellow, the Bouffalant declared his presence, crushing the stone flooring under the weight of his entry. Aduro faltered under the tremors of the attack, and, losing its balance, fell to the ground—only to be swept up in an instant by the bovine's horns.

The young man, one of his knees touching the ground, looked up to see his Houndoom being tossed into the air. Instead of concern, though, an amused smile played with his lips as he chuckled to himself.

"Aduro, Flamethrower."

The Houndoom shot out a gush of flames, which splashed along the ground where Bouffalant had been standing but a moment prior. The debris glowed red for a second like scattered coals, and Aduro crashed down onto its side in their midst. A gasp escaped the Houndoom, its eyes widening from the impact.

Alder's lips curved into a twisted smile. "Smash that Houndoom—Head Charge!"

The great beast let out another resounding battle cry before tearing across the room. The cracked floor didn't even faze the Bouffalant, and he soon neared Aduro, whose weak attempts to stand up only left it falling back to the ground, trembling. Bouffalant's afro glowed a flaming red as he leapt into the air, his entire body weight coming down onto the Houndoom—who quickly rolled out of the way, leaving Bouffalant to smash straight into the ground.

A great clap of thunder deafened Alder. Weakened by the struggle of its Champion, even the very walls seemed to shiver in fear, and the force of the attack sent shockwaves running up the temple. The overhead glass finally could no longer hold, and colored shards fell in a downpour of sharp knives, shredding apart the fabric of Alder's clothing and slicing through his skin to draw blood. From the crater formed in the middle of the room, fragmented rock flew in every direction, remnants of what was once the ground. At the center of it, Bouffalant lay embedded in the stone, half-buried underneath the broken rock that trickled like pebbles, so numerous that they were akin to the ripples in a pond.

Pain licked at Alder's wounds like fire, and he let out a howl. He was blinded—both by blood and light, and the sky overhead was a deeper red than that which stained his skin and clothes. His hands clenched into fists by his side, his teeth gnashing together in their desire to tear the foolish child limb from limb. He felt a murderous flame ignite in his heart. There was no way he could forgive this brat—not if Arceus itself were to try and stop him. He returned Bouffalant to its Poké Ball and turned to the boy with a livid spin.

There he stood. There, with his hands in his pockets, his back turned to Alder. His eyes, hidden to Alder from this angle, gazed out into the distant sky. From head to foot, his dark apparel was bathed in the blood-red tint of the setting sun. Not a scratch lay on him, nor any tears or scuffs—not even a single hair seemed out of place.

He turned to Alder. It became ever more difficult to meet his eyes as the sun faded behind the horizon, the dark color of those damned things blending in with the dark as night fell upon them. But they brightened as he smiled.

"Do you feel the burn, Alder?" he asked. Alder could barely even hear the man's voice over the roar in his ears, yet the words could not have been clearer. "Does it hurt?"

The young man took a few steps forward. Alder's entire body shook, and the urge to tackle the man nearly overtook him. Yet somehow, his body wouldn't move...

He didn't stop advancing until they were within arms reach. Despite this, Alder still couldn't find the motor functions to strike the man down. The young man reached up and brushed the hair out of Alder's face, the back of his hand just barely skimming along the rough skin of his cheek—and then the fingers clenched in the mane of hair, nearly tearing his hair out.

The young man forced Alder's face closer to him, a mere inch or two away. Only at this distance could Alder see the shadows etched deeply underneath his eyes. In those dark eyes, he could see his own reflection: an old, pale-faced man, his skin dyed red with the very substance that kept him alive.

"Remember Hilda?" he whispered.

And then, Alder felt a hollow chill blow out the passionate flame warming his heart. He no longer saw the young man before him.

All he saw now was a young girl, cradling the ashen remains of her Pokémon.

* * *

><p><strong>AN - Howdy y'all!**** Sorry, it's a late release, I know. I meant to do this a while ago, but...I got busy. Stuff happened! Life interfered, lol.  
><strong>

**But Absalom is still on-track to finish this Saturday, March 1st, so no worries there! I just need to edit the last chapter; there are a lot of weird things I wanna tweak a bit. It's just a bizarre chapter; I don't know whether I like it or I hate it, haha.**

**Anywho, I hope everyone's been having a great year so far and an awesome February. Have a good day! And thanks for reading.**


	5. Burn - Likes Moths to a Flame

_Burn_

_- Like Moths to a Flame -_

* * *

><p>—"<strong>Remember Hilda?<strong>

—"_Ashton, right? I'm Cynthia. Let's see if we can make you a legend."—_

Five years passed.

When Hilda called him up asking for help, Ashton did not hesitate to jump into action. With the resources only a Champion could have (he graciously thanked Cynthia inwardly), he investigated all he could on his new foe: Ghetsis. He packed his things and was out the door in a flash.

Only, she had been waiting for him.

—"_So you're going? ...Come back quickly."_—

As he hugged her goodbye, the young teenager tried not to wonder if he would ever be able to come back.

He met up with Hilda at the airport of Mistralton City, where the two caught up on the past few years. Ashton hardly recognized the girl. Five years ago, she had been a midget who cried if you so much as looked at her funny. Now she was a young lady, her eyes hardened with resolve.

But the conversation quickly turned to the present, and Hilda filled him in on the details.

—"_We're storming his castle... N's Castle."_—

The green-haired youth stood before them, his skin as pale as the waning moon overhead, and splayed his hands out in greeting. Yet neither Hilda nor Ashton dared to step forward; the small square platform they stood on seemed much too confined a space to battle against the overwhelming pressure pushing down on them.

The pressure of he who had tamed a legend.

—"_Our hearts have resonated. We are one._ _I am Truth itself."_—

Flames spurt out from the glowing white stone in his hand, swirling into a vortex of light and heat. Light splashed across the room and cast against the walls long, eerie shadows that flickered in and out of existence, looking almost to sneer in twisted delight as they danced across the stone. The white orb burst into a thousand fragments—only for even those to burst into flame.

And then, the flames were swept in every direction, blown out by a gale. White wings, unfurling so widely that Ashton feared they would reach even across to either wall, carved into the air the undeniable fact that the opponent before them transcended the realm of mortals. Before them stood a deity.

Before them stood Truth.

Hilda stumbled backwards, bumping into Ashton behind her. She turned to him, and he could see that, in those blue eyes that reflected the light of the flames so well, she was afraid. That she needed him. That she couldn't do this alone. He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder—and darkness spilled out from her little messenger bag.

Nobody moved.

—Until slowly, ever so slowly, she undid the clasp and pulled out an orb. The same as N's, only black in color.

As soon as Ashton's fingers touched the oddly warm stone, black electricity surged out in a malevolent light show. He jerked away in surprise, only his fingers were stuck—locked to its surface. The stone burst, showering him in sparks.

And soon, opposite Reshiram, stood the Dragon of Ideals: Zekrom.

N merely smiled.

—"_Zekrom agrees to stand by your side… I will create the future I desire! I shall sweep you before me!"_—

Ashton and Hilda turned to each other.

And, with but a nod, the girl ran. Ashton saw N's gaze shift to watch the girl pass, yet the green-haired youth turned back to face him without a word, leaving Hilda to run up along the staircase to the throne room. She didn't so much as glance back, merely fading away into the darkness.

Then they clashed.

—"_Do you really think you can stop us with that?"_—

Lightning struck and thunder roared, tearing apart stone and sky alike. In violent retaliation came a storm of flames that scorched the very air itself and drowned the night in flames. The shadowy covers of the sleeping world were torn away, everything alight as the elements clashed.

—"_Is the world going to choose you, and not me?!"_—

Half the staircase was blown away by an avoided bolt of lightning, and the platform upon which Ashton and N creaked dangerously. A large crack ran down from the staircase and cut a gash straight through the stone. A split second later, the entire platform crumbled.

For a second, Ashton felt an odd weightlessness—and then reality came crashing down on him, and he plummeted. It wasn't long before he smashed into the hard body of Zekrom, and he sprawled over the dragon's back. Pain racked his body, and he nearly choked as the air in his lungs rushed out of him, but he was given no chance to recover before they dropped out of the air to avoid a flaming tempest. They touched lightly on the floor below amidst the rubble and debris.

Ashton watched as N landed across from him, riding on Reshiram's back just as he rode Zekrom's. He saw a change in the youth's expression: the unwavering confidence with which N had announced he would defeat Ashton was all gone. Now there was doubt.

Fear, even.

—"_Two heroes living at the same time— one that pursues truth, and one that pursues ideals._

_Could…could they both be right?"_—

Reshiram reared its head back, and its entire body was cast in a great blue light. Ashton kept a hand steady on Zekrom's back, his mouth shut. Somehow, fighting back felt like the wrong option.

From the palm that touched Zekrom's back, a shock ran through Ashton and reached the very tips of his body. It was a soft, gentle shock that served almost to soothe him; even in the face of Reshiram's ferocious assault, he felt no fear. In fact, he almost smiled.

—"_My truths... Your ideals…!__"_—

Everything turned a distinct shade of blue as Reshiram attacked. A cobalt stream of fire shot straight towards Ashton and Zekrom, singing a high-pitched note as it tore through the air. Ashton could hardly even see through its radiance, yet Zekrom was not fazed. With a sweep of its arm, it cranked out a massive shock of lightning that seemed to pierce the very clouds, so high it reached.

The two attacks clashed, and Ashton realized why he had felt so calm. The flames seemed simply to enter into the lightning, which turned a shocking shade of blue, and both attacks fizzled out in a blinding flash.

Ashton stepped down from Zekrom's back, as N opposite him did from Reshiram's. The green-haired youth lowered his head.

—"_Your feelings… They were stronger than mine, it seems...__Reshiram and I were beaten."_—

The two dragons seemed to flicker for a second. The two, alarmed, looked up—only to watch as the dragons broke apart, like picture frames shattering. The images disappeared into the night, and the legends were gone.

A small chuckle escaped Ashton. What heroes _they_ were.

N, too, smiled a bit.

—"_Wh__at I should do now is something I'll have to decide for myself. Your name is...Ashton?_

_Then, Ashton...please, allow me to accompany you."_—

The two looked up. The winding staircase that had once led all the way to the top of the castle was now nothing more than a few arches stuck in the walls at seemingly random intervals, barely even visible in the dark of the night.

Ashton pulled Vera's Poké Ball from his belt and released the Togekiss. He jumped onto her back and held his hand out to N. The youth hesitated—but took it all the same.

Hilda was waiting for them in the throne room.

Ghetsis knelt there on one knee, defeated, one arm cradling the other. The sleeve of his robe had been torn apart, and blood spilled from a deep gash in his arm. An awful tint colored his gaze and darkened his expression, twisting his smile in to an ugly sneer.

—"_So, this is how it ends, huh. Pathetic..."_—

Hilda glanced back at them. Her face, though darkened with dust and scratches, still seemed to brighten up as their eyes met. She even smiled. Ashton smiled, too.

Alder arrived at the scene not long after. With his assistance, Ghetsis was locked up and put away, and the case was closed. Alder agreed to take care of the incident, forgiving N in the process. The green-haired youth eyes glimmered with a wet light as he bowed his head in gratitude.

Everything was over, Ashton and Hilda both agreed. Finally, finally over.

Soon, the two were ready to part ways once more. But first, Ashton decided, he would watch Hilda take on the Elite Four. He waited in the lounge, where the Nurse Joy set up a television screen for him to watch the battles from. The Unova League was no less than stellar in its technology.

He was not alone: N leaned by the entrance to the tower of the Elite Four, saying that he would be waiting for the new Champion to come out.

The screen flickered on as the battle begun. And oh, what a magnificent battler Hilda had become; the Elite Four of Unova, so highly respected in the battling world, were no match for her skills. She and her team swiftly swept away the opposition, and with a few Revives and Potions in between battles, it was not long before she stood in front of the Champion's temple.

She was trembling from head to toe, and her hands were balled into tiny fists by her side. It seemed to be a full minute or two before she even dared to lift her arm. Only after a long, deep breath did she open the door.

Alder stood waiting for her.

They exchanged a few short words, but they echoed into incomprehensible garble in those stone walls. Then, the two nodded—and the battle began.

It was a terrifying struggle. Alder took a crippling lead by taking down two of Hilda's Pokémon, only for the young girl's Emolga to shoot down the dreadfully fast Accelgor. His Bouffalant knocked the poor Electric-type senseless—only for Hilda's Samurott to even up the the battle by taking down both Bouffalant and Druddigon before falling to Vanilluxe.

Ashton found himself gripping at the cushions. He shook with anticipation. She could actually win this...she could actually become the Champion...!

Vanilluxe fell and was replaced with Escavalier, who quickly struck down Hilda's Musharna. She fumbled with the last Poké Ball before releasing the Braviary. With a stone-shredding gale, the Escavalier was blasted away, and the battle was all tied up.

One to one.

One more shot.

—"_You've done well to come this far. But it all ends with this next Pokémon!"_—

The entire temple turned red in the light of searing flames. Volcarona entered in a flaming tempest, its wings arched in bloodthirsty anticipation.

The battle was completely one-sided. Braviary couldn't even keep up with the Sun Pokémon. Talon was stopped by crushing blows; wind was swept up in blistering tornadoes. Escape was impossible—everything was within the sun's domain.

In the corner of the screen, Ashton could see Hilda scrambling with her Poké Balls and bag.

Braviary hit the ground with an audible thud. Neither Trainer could possibly deny that the battle was over.

—"_So this was your limit. Still, you impressed me. I..."_—

Alder faltered as Samurott once again took the stage. His expression changed from a smile to something odd.

Was it...fear?

But the expression quickly changed into a much more recognizable look. A disgusted snarl distorted his face, twisting his lips into an ugly grimace.

—"_A Revive...!"_—

Ashton never saw what happened next, for just then, the camera was consumed in a great storm of fire. The microphone caught one last high-pitched scream before it, too, was devoured.

* * *

><p>Hilda stumbled out into the room, her face smeared black. Ashton and N both jumped up from the sofa to run over to her—only for them to stop in their tracks.<p>

The Poké Ball in her hand dropped to the carpeted floor and burst open.

The carcass was unrecognizable. The skin looked as though it had been slashed apart, bones sticking out past oozing red gore, but the black and the stench told Ashton otherwise. It was the smell of burnt flesh—a heavy, sickening scent that choked him. He gagged on it, and he held a hand to his mouth in nauseous horror.

Hilda crumpled to the ground and screamed.

The same scream as they had heard before.

He dropped beside her and held her to his chest, grappling with the sobbing, thrashing girl. She was inconsolable. She fought with him, tore at his grip, smashing against him with every available body part to escape his grasp, all the while letting out that heartwrenching wail. He held her closer still, whispering to her, patting her head and rubbing her back—anything, anything at all, to distract her from the molten lump before them.

There was a flash of red light, and Ashton knew N was replacing the body. But he couldn't bear to even look, knowing that all there would be was a bloodstained carpet stained with the ashen remains of what had once been living tissue. Instead he closed his eyes and tightened his grip even further.

Eventually the screams faded to gasps for breath, and then to pained, cold silence. The girl no longer even moved, her hands hanging limply by her sides, her head only supported by his chest. Ashton pulled away just enough to see her face and cupped her face gently in his hands.

Her once vibrant blue eyes were nothing more than empty glass now. Her stare was dead. He let his hands fall from her cheeks, and she merely slumped a bit, casting her gaze now downwards. The cheeks that had once been so rosy now looked ever so pale, as if drained of their energy. Tear trails dug rivers through grime and ash.

Someone put a hand on Ashton's shoulder, and the boy raised his eyes. N didn't meet his gaze. Ashton rose to his feet.

Hilda merely lay there on her knees, her eyes shadowed by her singed hair.

Ashton felt a furious sob rise in his throat, but he kept silent. With blurred vision, he lifted the girl gently off the ground. As if a rag doll, she didn't even react, simply lying limply there in his arms.

He turned to N, and the boy nodded. He motioned for Ashton to follow.

** That was a long time ago, wasn't it?—**

...But I remember. Because you killed her."

Ashton watched Alder's expression twist in painful recollection. The young man smiled, though he felt anything but amusement.

"I visited Hilda a few weeks ago," Ashton said, releasing his grip on the man's hair. Alder pulled away with a relieved grumble, while Ashton glanced down at his hand and shook it in the air, ridding it of the disgusting hairs. "She shares a home with N, actually. She's got a job at some corporate firm. She's making a decent salary, and the two are happy. I'll never know when they'll get married, but they better sometime soon.

"But she's not Hilda Weiss, the Hero of Unova, anymore. And she never will be again."

Ashton looked up to the sky. The moon was a waning crescent; it would be new soon.

"You're...here for _that_?" Alder growled. He had backed away a few steps and was glancing around, as if looking for something.

Ashton smiled. Like a rat in a cage. "No, Alder. I'm not here for Hilda."

"Then—"

The veil of darkness was momentarily blown away as Ashton threw a Poké Ball onto the ground. A dark fox, standing on two feet up to Ashton's chest, materialized on the broken stone and remains of the stained glass. Its mane was darker than blood, its tips a sharp black. She bared her razor-like fangs.

"Reina, Illusion."

The form of the Zoroark shattered. In its place stood a slouching monkey, with its arms resting on its knees and its eyes gazing lazily out into the distance. Its head housed a flickering flame that weaved and wafted through the air.

Then the Infernape broke apart, and a Luxray took its place. Its long tail swished through the air, and it growled menacingly, blue electricity arcing across its body. But that image, too, fragmented.

A Floatzel, its fangs bared. _Crack_. A Lopunny, bouncing lightly. _Crack_. A Togekiss, smiling. _Crack_. Back to the Infernape. _Crack_. Luxray. _Crack_. Floatzel. _Crack_. Over and over again, in an endless cycle, never once deviating from its pattern.

"Gusto, Midas, Pluto, Bel, Vera..." Ashton whispered. He watched Alder's eyes slowly widen, until he was almost certain they would bulge out, so wide his stare was. "I loved them dearly. My partners for five years. From start to finish.

"But then you killed them, didn't you?

—**You killed them all.**

—_"Alder!"_—

Ashton screamed his name. The Champion barely had time to turn to the open doors before Gusto shot out a massive Fire Blast. Alder narrowly avoided the great flame, which hit the far wall several tens of feet away and splashed across the stone.

Standing in the middle of the room, Alder was caught in the stained glass's odd schism of color and bathed in the glow of the flames. His entire figure was swathed in a strange myriad of colors, flickering between fiery reds and pale pinks, shadowed blues and rippling blacks.

But stranger still was his smile.

Ashton could hardly even unclench his jaw to spit out his next words.

—"_You fucking son of a—_you ruined my best friend's life!_"_—

Another five Poké Balls burst open, and the next attack was multiple times more vicious. A flickering gout of fire, a surging arc of electricity, an orange ray of energy, a tearing gust of wind, a pressurized torrent of water, and a single blade of darkness that tore through the ground—everything at once came rushing towards the Champion, who merely opened one of the six capsules hanging around his neck.

All six attacks were shredded apart by a hurricane of fire.

Heat struck Ashton like a slap to the face, and he felt it burrow into his skin. It was a venom, so potent that he blacked out for a split second, lost merely in its magnitude. The entire temple was alight with a single attack.

The sun god had risen, and it demanded tribute.

—"_Foolish child..."_—

Only in the face of death did Ashton realize his horrible mistake.

Six Pokémon rushed to his rescue. Six stupid, stupid fools jumped in front of him, just as Volcarona released an Overheat. He tried to scream to his Pokémon, but he couldn't even breathe in the intense heat.

Gusto—his first Pokémon, his ever-faithful partner—glanced back at him. There was an odd look in his eyes—a cold, restless emotion that Ashton could never put a single word to. As if he already knew exactly what was going to happen and had been forced to accept it.

He turned around and smashed his fist into Sensa's side. The Absol's eyes widened in shock, betrayal, but she was knocked away to beside Ashton, gasping for breath.

Gusto gave him a smile. Were those tears in his eyes as he smiled? They were bitter, ever so bitter. Who thought a Fire-type would ever cry?

All five Pokémon were engulfed in the flames. Nothing was left but five smoldering lumps.

Alder said nothing as he walked past the boy, leaving him in the temple alone. The sun seemed to smile down on them overhead as Ashton and Sensa cried.

**You didn't even care.—**

...Not that I'm blaming you, of course. It was self-defense, right? Surely you wouldn't have _wanted_ to murder my teammates."

He returned Reina to her Poké Ball before glaring at Alder. The Champion seemed to wince every time Ashton so much as glanced at him, and now he looked as if he were slowly being stabbed through with a knife. It was a sickening image, to see the old man cringe so.

Ashton merely smiled.

"How maddening was it, Alder? You were almost defeated by a fifteen-year-old girl. Your pride couldn't allow that, could it?"

The geezer bit his lip, but said nothing. Ashton felt the smile slip from his face.

"You almost make _me_ feel like the bully here, Alder," Ashton said. He took a step forward, and Alder took a step backward. "Come, now. Isn't that why you banned Revives? So that it would never happen again?"

Ashton watched as Alder backed away once more. But the darkness was deep, and the flooring was a mess; the Champion tripped over a stray rock, hitting the ground hard. He looked up at Ashton with wide eyes, his big, scarred hands clutching at rock and stone on either side of him.

A frustrated growl escaped Ashton. "Is this really it? _This_ is the piece of trash that killed my Pokémon!? I don't fucking believe it!" He stamped his foot, and the steel plating on the soles of his shoe further broke apart the panels of stone. "Stand up, Alder. _Stand up_!"

Alder roared. He leapt to his feet and charged Ashton, who drew back his arm. Ashton smashed his elbow into the side of the man's face, knocking him aside facefirst onto the ground. Breathless, the Champion gasped for air, but Ashton gave him no time to recover. He kicked the man in the side and reached under his body with his foot, flipping him onto his back before stomping down on his stomach. Alder let out a strangled choke.

"Why!?" Ashton snapped. His eyes flashed with fury. "Why is it that _you_ won!?"

Blood trickled down from the man's busted lip. Ashton reached down and grabbed the man by his necklace, straining to hoist him up to his feet. The thick rope cord dug into the back of his neck, making Alder groan, but Ashton couldn't even hear the sound over the roar in his ears. He heard screams, but he knew they weren't real. He heard the growls of a hungry fire, but he knew they weren't real. He heard Hilda's bell-like laugh, his Pokémon's noisy banter, Cynthia's soft-spoken comforting words—

_ —_but _he knew they weren't real._

"You fucking idiot!"

Ashton smashed his fist into Alder's cheek, sending the man sprawling to the ground. Now both sides of the man's face were a bruised purple, the rest of it painted scarlet. Pain seized Ashton's knuckles, but he hardly registered it.

"_Let out Volcarona_!" he screamed. "_Right now_!"

As if in response to his demands, one of the Poké Balls around Alder's neck burst open. And lo, how the sun god entered, its magnificence lighting up even the shadow-struck temple. The temple's master had returned, and light was once again flooding the room.

It stood between Ashton and Alder. Ashton had the vague feeling that it was looking at him, but he didn't care. An ugly sneer pulled at his lips.

"Sensa, it's your turn."

Ashton let the little sphere drop from his hand. It clattered against the ground loudly, ringing a metallic sound through the air, before it burst open. The sleek white Absol stepped out onto the battlefield, her eyes instantly focusing on the Volcarona.

There was a moment's hesitation where the two merely watched each other. Then, they both scattered—Sensa to one end, Volcarona to the other. Ashton and Alder both leapt out of the center of the battlefield and yelled out their commands:

"Volcarona, Overheat!"

"Sensa, Night Slash!"

One last great inferno lit the fallen temple. One last sacred flame swallowed up the oxygen in the room as its sacrifice, and the stone altar was rekindled for the final time. The god, in all its glory, released its wrath, focusing everything on the insolent heretic before it. Heaven seemed to tear apart under its assault, the god-flames manifesting like a maelstrom of fire—they struck, they roared, they cackled, and the room itself seemed incandescent in the boiling temperature of seething rage.

Sensa swung her head. The great sea of flames parted before her.

The sun god lowered its head. Great Helios submitted to the prophet. And the two wings holding the deity up splattered blood everywhere, ripped apart.

Volcarona fell, a mortal.

Blood fell like rain. Sensa returned to Ashton's side, her once-white fur now red, as Alder turned to his fallen Pokémon. He rushed to its side and fell to his knees, his hands on its chest. His lips moved in almost silent horror: "No...no! No, no, no...this...can't..."

He spoke, but the words were unintelligible. He blubbered words, but his sobs and split lip muffled him. He sobbed for help, but his cries fell on deaf ears. He screeched profanities, but they merely dispersed into the open sky.

Even the moon turned away, closing its curtain with a curtain of clouds.

A low moan like the sound of a motor shook Alder's body as he lay hunched over the Volcarona's body. The Sun Pokémon shivered, twitched, then jerked violently—it fought to stay conscious, but the blood continued to seep out from the tears in its wings, and its eyes struggled to see past the impending darkness. It seemed oblivious to the shaking hands that ran along the length of its body, oblivious to the desperate attempts to stop the blood.

The rustle of clothing turned Alder's head. Ashton reached into his jacket and pulled out a little leather pouch, tied closed with a knotted thick cord strung along its top.

"Funny how what you banned is the one thing that can save you," he said. He undid the knot and reached into the pouch. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled out the contents—

—and Alder let out a little yip.

"A Revive," the Champion whispered. His hands froze, hovering over the wounds, as if repelled by them.

Ashton smiled as he rolled the stone around on his palm. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Sensa was tensing beside him. It was a little diamond-shaped rock, and aside from the smoothness and unmistakable deliberation to its shape, it may as well have been any other ordinary rock found in nature.

But this stone was different. This stone could save Volcarona's life.

"I could give you this stone, if you want."

Alder's eyes widened. A Lillipup begging for a treat. A starving pest cast out onto the streets, pawing at your foot for a tasty treat.

"All you have to do is promise me something."

"Something—anything, I'll do it," the man pleaded. The regal air had left him a withered old man, his hands balled fists on the ground. His voice shook and cracked—and his eyes seemed to glisten in the light. "Please, please...just don't let me lose another one...not again..."

Ashton was indifferent. "Promise me. Anything, you said. Promise me whatever I want."

"I-I promise!"

"Then, Alder," Ashton said, gripping the stone tightly, "how about you get what you deserve?"

The Champion hesitated for but a mere moment, but it was much too long a pause to stop Ashton. The teen threw down the Revive onto the ground and watched it shatter, letting the _crack!_ ring in the air with a dull pang.

His last hope crushed, the Champion merely crumpled to the ground.

Ashton reached down into the debris and picked up a triangular shard of glass. Etched onto its surface were the sparks of electricity, streaking and winding across like a spiderweb. Its edge dug into Ashton's hand and sliced through the skin. The blue image was streaked with gore as blood ran down the shard's length, until the red dripped to the ground as the morning dew of the trees might.

He stepped closer to the Alder: slow, deliberate steps. It may have been a whole minute before he reached the man, and by that point, Alder had regained enough sense to realize what was happening. The Champion leapt to his feet, but Ashton paid him no mind. He held the fragment in his hands so tightly that the glass threatened to break.

Alder rushed him. Desperation blinded the man, and fearlessly he struck at the armed teen before him. Sensa snarled, but Ashton paid her no mind; he barely sidestepped the wild tackle, watching as Alder skidded along the ground. The fabric of the Champion's shirt tore as he slid along the stone and glass, yet he didn't even seem to notice as he quickly pulled himself back up. A wild spark ran through his eyes—that of a savage beast.

"Fool," Ashton hissed. "The king finally rises from his throne, and it turns out he's nothing more than a retrograde primate."

Alder snarled and once again charged Ashton. The boy pivoted to avoid the Champion—who, this time, quickly spun around and outstretched his hand straight for Ashton's face. But the teen merely tilted his head and avoided it before grabbing the arm.

Ashton slashed upward.

Blood spurt from Alder's arm as the shard sliced through the skin. Gore splattered Ashton, dyeing him in the life of his victim.

A howl ripped past Alder's lips, and he dropped to one knee, clutching at the wound. Blood flooded out, freed from its captor, finding refuge in the cracks of the ground and pooling around him. The Champion knelt in a puddle of his own blood, too blinded by pain to even see it.

Ashton gazed down at the kneeling man and found himself trembling. It was already too late to turn back. He flipped the glass piece so the point faced downward and gripped it tightly. He could feel it rip another few cuts into his palm as he raised it up above his head. It gleamed as it caught the moonlight, sending a blue ray of light shining through it.

The air sung as he brought down the shard.

Lightning struck, and thunder roared.

Blood sputtered out of Alder's chest. His eyes widened to impossible sizes, his lips quivering as his mouth opened in unspoken terror. A hand clutched where the glass fragment had shattered, leaving the countless pieces of glass slicing apart the insides of his chest. His horrified eyes reflected in their gaze the boy drenched in blood.

The Champion collapsed onto the ground and moved no more. Ashton watched him for a while, making sure the man was dead, before glancing down at his hand. It was soaked red. He did not know if it was his blood or not. He did not care whose blood it was.

He clenched it tightly, feeling glass pieces forever scar his hand, and chuckled to himself.

He glanced over to Volcarona. Sensa stood by its side, her dark eyes appraising the Sun Pokémon. She studied its expression, watching as it struggled and squirmed, desperate to go to its master's side.

Blood shot up like a fountain as Sensa slashed through the Pokémon's neck. And soon, it, too, was still, like its fallen Trainer.

Wearily, it seemed, Sensa stepped back over to Ashton. He doubted her mane would ever be white again, such a dark red she had become. She gave him a tired smile, and he returned it.

The Poké Balls stuck to the chain of Ashton's belt began popping open. Aduro, the Houndoom, touched onto the ground first. He eyed the bloodied Absol with amusement, growling what seemed almost to be praise. Sensa merely growled.

Then popped out Leo. He glanced once at Alder, then at Volcarona. He snickered, but that was all.

Reina was next. She said nothing, merely watching the unmoving human at her feet.

Vol fluttered out of his Poké Ball. The Honchkrow was gone in a flash, perched on top of the broken glass ceiling, cooing in almost mocking remorse. He dropped down in an instant and shot straight towards Volcarona's dead body—only for the last Poké Ball on Ashton's belt to open up.

Frendo, the Crawdaunt, made no hesitation to douse the bird with an impeccably accurate shot of water. Weighed down by the unexpected weight of wet feathers, the Honchkrow was forced to land, none too happily. He growled at Frendo, but the Crawdaunt merely turned to Ashton.

"Yeah," Ashton said. He glanced at each of the Pokémon and bowed his head to each one of them in turn. "It's done. Thank you for your help, all of you."

Vol gave a snarky half-chuckle, half-snort. He shook himself to rid some of the wetness, then set about stepping towards Volcarona once again. This time, Frendo didn't stop him—Sensa did.

She hissed. It was a bloodcurdling noise, one that even Ashton wasn't quite used to hearing from her. He had heard it once, and only once before: when she had been facing Volcarona to avenge Roth, Hilda's Samurott. A heavy weight filled the darkened room: Pressure.

A dirty look twisted the Honchkrow's expression. Nonetheless, he backed off, landing beside Reina instead.

Ashton pulled the Poké Balls off the chain and dropped them to the ground. He left only the one at where the chain curled around the belt.

"Then, as we agreed... You've all done for me what you promised, and I have shown you my pain in return. Let this contract be absolved."

And with that, he smashed the first Poké Ball underneath his foot. Leo glanced up, and then he lowered his head again. He took a step or two away. Now only five Pokémon stood circling around Ashton.

The second Poké Ball was Frendo's. The Crawdaunt gently bumped his clenched claw against Ashton's side before slowly making his way out. He didn't look back.

The next was Vol's. The Honchkrow didn't even show any signs of recognition; he merely flew off, sagging for a second under the weight of his wet wings, but managing still to lift himself up. He let out a single screech before disappearing into the dark night.

Then the fourth _smash!_ Aduro gave a haggard cough of a laugh. He made a playful snapping motion towards Sensa, who gave a low grunt of recognition. He then jerked his head towards Leo, who followed him out. The two slowly limped out, both injured, yet both content.

The fragments of red and white were odd to see gathered around him. Ashton smiled at Reina, who seemed almost to smile back. But it was merely the shadows playing tricks; her expression was solemn, as it always was. He crushed the Poké Ball at his feet, and she was free.

She glanced down at the pieces, as if confused for a second. But then she turned away and did something odd: she slowly pulled the cord off of Alder's neck, wrapped it around her wrist like a bracelet, and picked up Alder's body. With him in her hands, she carried him over to Volcarona's side.

Ashton and Sensa followed her in silence. They watched as she gently laid Alder beside his dead...no, murdered companion. And then she held her hand out, letting a dark energy envelop it, and clawed at the ground. She gouged out the dirt and stone until there was a rather large hole.

Ashton frowned: it was a grave.

She laid Volcarona in first. It was odd how centered the grave was. It was nearly the exact middle of the room—a funny coincidence if Ashton had ever seen one. And as Reina covered the hole, the temple truly became the Sun God's temple.

She stepped a few feet away and repeated the motion. Soon Alder, too, lay in rest.

The Zoroark then gathered together two sizable stones and placed one each at the top of the two graves. She then straightened up and gave Ashton a look.

He nodded. "Thank you, Reina. They'll be marked, don't worry."

She nodded. And then she, too, was leaving, bounding away—the guardian of the night, always on the lookout for those in need of protection.

Sensa looked up at Ashton. She nuzzled his hand and licked at his palm, gently wiping away the blood and grime. But his hands were stained through and the red not so easily deterred; more blood spilled, dripping from cuts too deep for them to simply wipe away.

He patted her on the head. He pulled the chain off of his belt and held it clenched within his fist, the cold metal links freezing against his slashed-open hands. She stepped a bit closer, and he draped it around her neck, her Poké Ball hanging like a pendant.

"Thank you, Sensa."

He knelt down, and she rested her head on his shoulder for but a moment. Then she pulled away, straightened up, and turned her head to the sky.

Ashton smiled a bit. "You did your best. Don't go thinking anything is your fault, all right?"

She nodded, solemnly.

For a second, Ashton felt a stinging pain in his eyes. He pressed the back of a hand to one, and the pain reached his nose, too. He tried to smile, but his lips wouldn't curve upward.

He pulled his hand away, letting the tear fall after all. "Good bye, my friend," he whispered.

She licked away the tears and pressed her head against his cheek before pulling away.

And then she, too, was gone.

* * *

><p>"Welcome back, Cynth."<p>

The disheveled Champion climbed past the broken doors and stepped into the room. She gazed around the broken battlefield in silence. The ground shone in the moonlight, glass buried among what had once been the walls and floor of the temple. A few puddles of blood glistened near where the new tombstones lay.

In the center of it all stood Ashton. He gazed up at the crescent moon through the now-open ceiling, playing absentmindedly with the blade of glass in his hands. Its surface was decorated with gentle, honest flames.

"Why, Ash?" she asked. Her voice was soft, fragile—like a little girl asking her friend if he was all right. But then she stepped forward, and she was once again Champion Cynthia, her voice hardened with authority: "Why would you do something like this?"

_Click click _went the glass in his hands. The stars were awfully hard to see in Unova, even out here in the solitude of the Pokémon League.

"You should know, Cynthia."

"I don't know—that's why I'm asking you!"

The young man realized dully that he couldn't feel his fingers touching the glass anymore. Odd. He fumbled with the edge, spilling more blood.

"He killed them, you know. Gusto, Midas, Bel, Pluto, Vera..." Cynthia took a step closer, but he pretended not to notice. He continued talking: "He killed Roth, too."

"Ashton..."

"I visited her in Lacunosa. The entire town lives in fear of the outside, out of fear of the past. She's no different. She spoke of the past, told me how she missed the old times... You think _that's_ living?" Ashton snapped. "You never knew her before that, but I sure as hell did. She's nothing, _nothing_, like the old Hilda."

Cynthia was almost close enough to touch him now. He took a deep, long breath to remain standing still. She was doing this on purpose, he could tell. It was the exact same as before: slowly, slowly approaching him, waiting for him. Not that it would ever amount to anything.

Yet why did he have the urge to reach out to her...?

"She's just as strong as she was before, Ashton," Cynthia whispered. "Far stronger than you think. Don't you know? She would always talk about you...wondering where you were, wondering if you were still training Pokémon... She even said she might start training again just to go and find you..."

Ashton bit his lip.

"I can't...none of us can bring back your old partners. But would they want to see you like this, Ashton? What did killing Alder do for you? You can make amends...you could change..." She held out a hand. "I could help you," she urged him. "Please."

He turned to her. Her eyes were wet with tears, softening the hard steel. A soft blush colored her cheeks, as if in hopeful anticipation.

Ashton's lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. Smiles weren't so cold, so painful. "That's cute, Cynth. Awfully cute. But you can drop the desperate act; it doesn't suit you."

"_Why_?" she pleaded. She was crying now—legitimate, unmistakable tears staining her face. The sobs seemed anxious to stifle her, but still she forced the words out: "Was I never good enough for you? I just wanted you back, Ash, that's all I ever wanted!"

"That's enough, Cynth." He raised the blood-soaked glass—and she moved.

It was such a sudden movement that he couldn't respond in time. She smashed against his chest, and, unprepared, he was toppled by her weight. They fell in a messy tousle onto the ground, her hands ripping at his to get at the glass, his entire focus on getting her off of him. All the while, she was spitting line after line in an incessant stupor, as if blinded by her own desperation.

—Don't do this; it's not too late; I love you—

He wasn't sure what happened. His body reacted before his heart could stop it; his head was filled with self-directed screams in hopeless attempts to stop himself. His leg flew outward, smashing into Cynthia's stomach. A gasp escaped her, and she slid along the ground a few feet on her shoulder and side, tearing through the soft fabric of her shirt.

Ashton lay there for a second in a dizzy spell—half from the shock, half from pain—but he quickly struggled to push himself up. He felt a sickening wetness on his back. Everything hurt, sharp and blinding.

Across from him, Cynthia coughed weakly. Her shoulder lay bare, now, and a small few trickles of blood spilled from it. She was barely sitting up, and her hands were running with blood; they would probably leave scars. A few more red gashes ran along her beautiful cheeks, ruining the once-perfect complexion. Ashton felt a cold restlessness fill him as she shakily began to stand up.

She got to one knee, and then stopped. She couldn't stand up. Her one leg wouldn't support her weight, merely giving out from under him every time.

Ashton felt his grip tighten on the glass. She had been injured even in the clearing, hadn't she? He had forgotten that.

She wiped the blood from her face with a sleeve, staining the once-white fabric even further. Her entire body shook with the effort to push herself up, but this time she managed it. She was once again standing.

"I thought you were smart," she spat. She held a hand to her shoulder, wincing in pain. Yet her voice was still strong. "But this? This is stupid. Just come back with me, Ashton. We can fix this. All of it."

Despite all the cuts and tears, she looked more beautiful than ever. Ashton lowered his gaze.

She was such an eyesore.

"You know, Cynthia, I'm kind of glad that it ended up this way."

He returned his gaze to her. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before walking over to her. She said nothing, merely staring at him with those gorgeous gray eyes. Her hand dropped from her shoulder to hang by her side in a small, clenched fist.

And when he was close enough, he pulled her into an embrace. Both of his arms wrapped around her lower back, and he could feel her breathing quicken against his neck.

"I do love you, you know," he mumbled into the mess her hair had become. "Or at least, I thought I did."

"Shut up." Her trembling voice was lost in his shoulder.

"I'm sorry for everything. I hope you'll be able to forgive me."

Her hands dug into his back, and her sobs shook him. "T-too late to ask that. I forgave you a long...a long time ago."

He pulled away, and she gazed up at him with a tearful gaze. She was gentle, ever so gentle. He raised the shard of glass, flames dancing along its edge. The blade was already darkened with blood. Heaven's judgment lay waiting to swallow up the heretic, and what was His puppet to do but His bidding?

Ashton smiled at her, at last relaxing. "Sorry that it has to end this way, Cynth. Just one last time, please...forgive me."

The damned blade sung.

* * *

><p>And so the moth burned.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN - And that's Absalom for ya. I'm sorry it took so much longer than planned to get this chapter out! I don't know what happened...I don't have an excuse. It took me getting sick to actually sit down and finish this, jeez!**

**This story was inspired by a certain scene in The Cantarella of Odile's story_ Last Train Home: A Platinum Nuzlocke_. If you ever have the time, check that out!  
><strong>

**Yup. That's about it. This was a fun story to write; I'll try and be doing more stories in darker tones like this more often.**

**Till next time, everyone! I hope y'all are as happy as I am about spring, :D**


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